


Sunrise

by TeamEmma



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Bullying, Child Abuse, Coming Out, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Religion, Religious Conflict, angst!zayn, gay-to-straight camps, high school!au, mopey!zayn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-18
Updated: 2013-12-26
Packaged: 2018-01-01 22:41:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 38,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1049417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeamEmma/pseuds/TeamEmma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn's only sixteen years old, and he doesn't understand why people are making such a big deal that he kissed the minister's son. But they do, they send him away to camp where people try to fix him, but he doesn't know if he gets fixed or not. Enters Niall, the new minister's son, who talks too much.</p>
<p>Also, Doniya is sassy. Max is Zayn's best friend who is a little bit of a dick. Harry is Harry. And Louis is Mr. Tomlinson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This one is dedicated to my best friend (who is gay!) who went through a tough time in his high school years as well. It's also dedicated to all the gay boys (and everyone) who has been through bullying because of their sexual identity, but especially the gay boys! This story was basically inspired by Mary Lambert - She Keeps Me Warm.
> 
> I've had a hard time deciding whether to post this or not, but it's been several months, and I am almost finished, so I figure what the hell! Also, summaries are hard.
> 
> Please leave comments! Kudos are good, but comments are great! Updates will be every Sunday, until I finish the last two chapters. Then I'll update it in its entirety.

Zayn wakes up to the sound of wind chimes in the distance as the morning sun peers through his blinds leaving cascades of light on his wooden floors. He lets out a relieved sigh that he didn’t wake up today screaming or gasping for air. He thanks the Lord that the recurring nightmares have subsided.

He hears his mother knock on the door before entering, and he turns to face away from her and the warm September sun. He digs his face into his pillows – not wanting to get up today of all days. Because today’s the first Sunday that he’s going to church again, and he’s going to need all of his energy to make it through the next few hours. He doesn’t want to go; he wants to kick and scream and refuse. He doesn’t want to sit in a sermon where they will tell him, a boy of 16, how he has the Devil inside of him, and how his mother will steal pitying glances at her only son wondering where she went wrong. He loves his mother, and he knew his mother loves him, but she fears God more than she loves him.

He feels his mother’s weight on his bed as she strokes his frazzled hair and whispers, “My dear, it’s time to get up. The girls are ready.”

He groans a little. His mother gives him a slight chuckle, and he feels her get up from the bed, “I’ll give you 30 minutes. Everyone’s waiting, dear.” He knows that it’s not just him that’s anxious about his first day back – anxiety loomed over the dinner table last night, and even little Waliyha was quieter than usual. She didn’t ask the usual twenty questions as if she knew that the coming Sunday was going to be a trying day.

*

_It was on a summer Sunday when his mother kissed him on the forehead – the softness of her lips made Zayn’s eyes crinkle as a smile crept on his face. Zayn used to like Church Sundays – the laziness in people’s eyes and the way they dressed fancy on the Lord’s Day._

_At the age of 16, Zayn figured he was still awkward and growing into his looks – too tall, too lanky, and too wiry – not being able to fill out his clothes like he should. He would fidget in them, but his mother said he looked good in his suit, and it really brought out his hazel eyes, and the Lord would be proud of how sharp he looked._

_It was always like this for Zayn and his family. He knew that he didn’t have blue eyes or blond hair, but his family were all devout Christians because they had to be, he figured. Going to church in small towns like these were necessary, he knew the whispers that were said to the other non-Christians in his town. He knew that if his family wanted to keep their farmland and go to their schools, they would have to show up to church like any other normal person in this town. But his mother was vocal about how much she feared God, and his father loved his mother, and so that was that._

_He would say a proper hi to everyone at church, but he would make sure to avoid the minister’s son with his honest brown eyes and his furrowed eyebrows. It’s not like he didn’t like the boy, or maybe he did, but whenever Zayn looked at Liam, it gave him a funny feeling in his stomach._

_Everyone is settling into the church stands now, and Zayn makes it his duty to look at the ground because he knew Liam’s eyes were on his – as if trying to send him signals or messages just by the intensity of his gaze. He sits in between Doniya and Waliyha while his mother holds Safaa in her lap. He didn’t even want to get started on how the kids teased him and his sisters for the funny names his father picked out for them._

_Zayn doesn’t pay much attention to the minister’s sermon, and he wants to get into the car as quickly as possible, but his mother’s hand is firmly on his back as she says, “Dear, that nice boy Liam seems like he wants to talk to you.”_

_“I don’t want to,” he knows what talking to Liam means even though his mother didn’t understand – the way his eyes burrowed into Zayn’s forehead made his heart do weird skips and his hands sweaty._

_“Zayn, I did not teach you to be improper,” his mother says. Her voice firm and he knew that there was no way of getting out of it today, “Now go on.”_

_Zayn approaches Liam hesitantly, “Stop doing that,” is the first thing the boy says to Zayn. He has a mixture of frustration and anger on his face._

_“Doing what?” Zayn shrugs._

_“Avoiding me,” Liam says, “I know you’re avoiding me. Like Last Sunday, you ran to your car without saying anything.” Liam is younger than Zayn, but Zayn is all long limbs and wiry while Liam is stocky and bulky – square shoulders and firm hands. He knew that if Liam wanted to, he could pin Zayn down in a heartbeat. Zayn shakes that image out of his head quickly; he is in a place of worship._

_Zayn looks at his mother and father hoping that they would be done with their conversation with the nice family that owns a few cows down the road, but they were so engross in conversation that they hardly even notice Zayn, “Come on, let’s go outside.” And before Zayn knew it, Liam had Zayn’s wrist in his hand, pulling him outside._

_He really likes this church – the white pews and the mosaic walls that made rainbow sunlight dance on the wooden floors on the warmest of days. He also likes it because there is a giant lake outside and Doniya had promised him that she was going to teach him how to swim one day in that lake. She hasn’t yet though, and Zayn doesn’t want to go near it._

_Liam guides him to a bench facing the lake – just far enough so that Zayn could see outlines of people getting in their cars and probably going for their Sunday brunch at the only big diner in town. Zayn refuses to look at Liam and decides to focus his attention on some of the ducks bathing in the lake instead. He fidgets with his hands._

_“I know you like me,” Liam says unabashedly. This is why Zayn hates Liam; he lacks tact and says things that are not true at all._

_“I don’t,” Zayn says – still avoiding Liam’s gaze._

_“Lying is a sin,” and Zayn thinks that Liam definitely knows that boys liking other boys is a sin as well, but he doesn’t say anything as Liam scoots in closer and touches Zayn’s face softly. Zayn doesn’t move away even though his mind is telling him that he definitely should._

_Liam is forceful, and Zayn probably doesn’t like that because the next thing Zayn knows is that Liam’s hand is cupping his face. Liam licks his lips and leans in, and Liam tastes soft and chapped as he presses his lips onto Zayn’s. Zayn doesn’t stop him because maybe Zayn likes it too – the way Liam’s lips feel wet and warm against his. He likes the way Liam holds Zayn’s face steady in his sweaty hands. He likes the feeling of kissing boys and not girls – how they’re rougher and more unabashed. He likes the way Liam takes control and his tongue tries to pry into Zayn’s mouth. He likes the way Liam closes his eyes and takes in all of Zayn. He likes the way –_

_“Boys!” Liam lurches backwards and Zayn almost falls off the park bench, “The Devil! The Devil has my son!” And Zayn is in absolute horror when Liam’s father, the minister, smacks Liam across the face and pulls Liam backwards by the collar of his shirt. Zayn doesn’t want to be here; he wants to be anywhere but here. His mother and father are behind the minister looking absolutely terrified. His mother’s face was paler than he ever saw it, and his father just looks down at the ground. Waliyha and Doniya both look away blushing with shame while Safaa switches her gaze to everyone in confusion._

_“The Devil has our sons, Tricia,” the minister says as he drags Liam back to the church. His face flush with anger or embarrassment or both as he shakes his head fervently. Everyone’s looking at them now – frozen in place as the fear of sin looms over them._

*

Zayn’s biting his finger nails as his father parks the van into the driveway of the familiar church. He could really use a smoke right now. Doniya smiles at him a little and grasps his arm in a sign of support. Zayn’s nervous, and he tries to smile back at Doniya, but it comes out as a nervous grin.

He fidgets with his black tie, and he’s last out of the van – trying to avoid the gaze of everyone around him. Blue eyes and blond hair are a commonality in this town, and he’s instantly reminded that he does not belong. His sister stays close to him, and for once, he’s thankful that she doesn’t understand personal space. She whispers, “You know, Liam’s gone.”

His parents banned Liam’s name ever since the incident. He winces a little at the memory of Liam – soft lips and square shoulders, and Doniya slings her arm around his shoulders and whispers in his ear, “The whole family left soon after, you know,” she smiles at him, “You won’t have to see him anymore even though I know you miss him.”

“I don’t,” Zayn says matter-of-factly. He’s annoyed at his sister not because he doesn’t miss Liam. It’s because Doniya seems to know that even though Zayn was hesitant to come back, a part of him still wanted to see Liam or feel Liam’s touch or even his lips, and that’s sinful – one of the ugliest of sins, Zayn thought.

His sister frowns at him a little and pulls away. She smiles at him, “That’s okay too, then.” Zayn’s glad that she doesn’t push it.

Zayn’s family sits in the way back – a different place from where they usually sit. Zayn breathes a little bit easier as the churchgoer’s eyes are not on his family.

He recognizes most of the people and things haven’t changed much. Zayn realizes that he’s only been away for a month, but that month felt like forever, and he felt like he had changed so much. The bald man who has a belly the size of Safaa sits in the front with his wife and two rotund kids. He’s the one who usually feels something, anything at every sermon with his hands outstretched as if the actual Lord was touching him.

There’s Mama Christina, as she likes to be called, who resembles a picture perfect grandma with a little pink beret and crocheting tools. She likes to pinch Zayn’s cheeks and compliment on how much he’s grown throughout the years. She’s the only one who still looks at Zayn the same.

There’s also the boys who Zayn used to call friends sitting next to each other – sniggering to each other while they point at Zayn. They make it a point to make kissy faces at each other and laugh loudly while their parents pretend to not see them. Max used to be his closest friend – smoking together, teasing each other, sneaking into each other’s houses, he missed that. Before everything happened, Zayn misses Max and his other friends, but they were also assholes. Now he had no choice to be alone, he doesn’t even want to think about how they’ll treat him at school when they weren’t on Church grounds.

Trying to not egg them on, Zayn looks at the piano and wonders where Perrie is. She is Mama Christina’s granddaughter and part of the church choir. She plays the piano every Sunday, and if Zayn didn’t know any better, he would say she has a little crush on him. Well, she had a crush on him before everything happened.

He frowns a little when he doesn’t see her or hear her voice, but instead, he sees a younger boy who stumbles to the front holding a guitar. He has messy blond hair and bright blue eyes as he sits on the front steps. He starts strumming his fingers on the guitar.

Zayn looks around in confusion, but no one else seems to pay this boy any attention. The boy smiles a little bit and Zayn can see a mouth full of braces, and he finds it a little bit endearing. His heart lurches a little at the boy’s rosy cheeks and how soft they would be under Zayn’s touch. Zayn shakes the thought out of his head because he’s been trained to push down all these thoughts – ignoring the Devil inside of him.

Zayn whispers to Doniya, “Who’s that?”

Doniya looks at him. She seems to scan Zayn’s eyes a little bit with some caution, “That’s Niall. He’s the new minister’s son.”

“Oh,” is all that escapes Zayn’s lips, and his sister was right – Liam and his parents probably packed all their bags and jumped ship ever since the incident. Not even a goodbye from Liam, but he figured that Liam’s parents probably prohibited Liam from even thinking of Zayn just like how Zayn’s parents hissed every time Safaa brought up sweet and nice Liam. Zayn wished that he could move too because how can he go back to school on Wednesday or to church when everyone has branded him one of the worst sinners in this side of town.

Doniya looks at Zayn a little longer and finally turns back to the front. Zayn tries to avoid staring at Niall, but he’s just so intrigued at the way Niall’s fingers move. He can’t help but smile as he admires the elegance of Niall’s fingers rising and falling on the guitar and the sunlight dancing around Niall’s feet in different facets of color from the mosaic. He likes Niall’s salmon tie and white dress shirt with his sleeves rolled up.

_Love is patient. Love is kind_.

That’s all that Niall sings – changing tones and pitch every once in a while. The refrain is gentle on Zayn’s ears, and Zayn can’t help but to look at Niall’s eyes – getting lost in the sea of blue as he wishes his eyes were the same color.

Zayn’s eyes immediately fall to the floor as Niall’s eyes catches his. He doesn’t look up until Niall stops singing.

“And that’s my son,” the new minister says proudly – this minister had the same eyes as Niall, but his hair was dark speckled with grey like he just stepped outside when it was snowing, “His song also introduced the theme of my sermon today.”

Niall smiled at the crowd and let his eyes linger on Zayn for a moment, and Zayn tenses up. He’s not sure what to make of Niall yet, but he doesn’t want this, and he suddenly has an itch to run away as fast as he can.

“When you love someone,” the preacher says, “you love them unconditionally. When God said He loves us, it wasn’t with conditions; it wasn’t only when you’re perfect; it wasn’t when you didn’t do anything wrong. No, God loves you when you sin,” Zayn looks down uncomfortably – not wanting to catch the minister’s eyes, “God loves you, welcomes you with open arms and forgives your sins. He may hate the sin, but our God doesn’t hate the sinner.”

Zayn finds his mother slipping her hand into his, he looks up at her and she smiles at him. A smile that can only be described as rueful that shows the lines near her eyes and the troubles Zayn had put her through. Zayn’s heart breaks and promises to himself that he’ll never do that to her again.

“When you love someone, it is an all-encompassing love. It is a love that knows sacrifice. It is a love that is both passionate and patient. It is a love that is both kind and fervent.” Zayn’s not even surprised when the preacher’s eyes falls on his even though he shrinks in his seat with his mother holding his hand tightly. In a small town like this, news spread fast, and it is completely unsurprising that even the new minister has heard of the sins Zayn has committed. He didn’t just kiss another boy, no, he kissed the minister’s boy – embarrassed his whole family, disgraced the church, and desecrated church grounds.

There is no malicious intent behind the minister’s eyes. Much like his son, the minister’s eyes look at Zayn with a certain kind of softness without pity that he hasn’t seen before in a while. He decides that he likes this new minister, and it takes him a while to realize that he hasn’t been paying attention to the rest of the sermon.

Zayn is ready to get up and leave before the other churchgoers have a chance to look at him with pitying eyes. He sees the minister gesture to his son and whisper in his ear, and Niall nods and smiles looking directly at Zayn. Zayn knows what’s going to happen next and he feels like running out of there. He doesn’t want to be anyone’s pity case; he would rather just sulk alone in dark corners with his lips pursed and his jawline tensed. He doesn’t want to deal with Niall’s sympathetic looks or fake friendships just because his father asked him to look after the freakshow. Zayn’s not a freakshow; he doesn’t want special treatment.

He just wants to be left alone.

But before he even steps out, he sees Niall coming towards him. He looks at his mother in panic. She just smiles, “He’ll be good for you, dear. A good influence after all that has happened.”

He tries his best not to snort – stifling the feelings of betrayal rising in him, “I don’t need help.”

“Dear,” she says simply, “It’s okay to admit that you have sinned. I love you regardless.”

Before he could even respond, Niall is standing in front of him nodding at his mother. He has his guitar slung around his back. He decides that he doesn’t like this Niall much with his rosy cheeks, and his mouth full of braces, and the way the edges of his blue eyes crinkle when he smiles, “I’m Niall.” He says – reaching out his hand to Zayn.

His mother has to nudge him a little before he takes Niall’s hand in his. He almost pulls away instantly from the sensation of another boy’s hand, but he’s trained for this. He does feel a little weird because they’re not like Liam’s at all. Liam’s hands were soft where Niall’s hands were rough and calloused. He figures it’s probably from strumming the guitar, “Zayn.”

He knows he’s not making it easy for Niall, but Niall just smiles brightly and it is completely irritating to Zayn that Niall doesn’t comprehend that Zayn would rather fall on a rusty pike than talk to Niall, “You want to go outside, Zayn?”

No, he wouldn’t, is what he would like to say, but Zayn just shrugs as the boy leads him outside. His mother smiling at him as if he’s suddenly been cured just being in Niall’s presence. He wishes it was that simple.

Niall leads him to the same bench that Liam’s father had found the two boys once before. Niall sits down, but Zayn doesn’t. He refuses. The morning sunrise casts zigzagged glimmers upon the lake. Niall just sits there and kicks his feet in the dirt as he looks at Zayn with an unreadable expression. Zayn picks up a stone and throws it, not knowing what else to do. He avoids the ducks, of course, and when he turns back to Niall, he sees the blond boy smile at him encouragingly.

“So, what’s your middle name?” Niall asks.

Zayn ignores him.

“Okay, do you have a job?”

Zayn doesn’t answer, because he really doesn’t want to be here. He thinks that if he doesn’t talk to Niall, then maybe Niall will get the hint. He doesn’t need to be fixed, and even if he did, what made his mom and the minister think that this curious boy will fix him anyway? What did Niall have that was so amazing?

“Do you like to paint? What’s your favorite word? Do you like music?”

Niall looks a little desperate now, but he still doesn’t convey annoyance which Zayn has got to give the boy his credit because if he was in Niall’s shoes, Zayn would’ve given up by now.

“I just,” Niall says almost pleading as he folds his arms over his chest – looking out at the lake now too, “can I be your friend?”

“You don’t have to be,” Zayn simply says because he doesn’t want Niall as a friend under false pretenses.

“But I want to be,” Niall says, huffing his cheeks out in frustration. Zayn doesn’t think this is endearing at all.

“Your dad,” Zayn says, “And my mum made you.”

“Are you always this hard to get along with?” Niall says. Was he teasing him?

“No,” Zayn says without thinking, he keeps forgetting that he wants Niall to leave him alone, “Yes, I don’t know.”

“Okay,” Niall says getting up and standing next to Zayn. He keeps his distance, and Zayn is grateful for that. Niall looks out at the lake and smiles a little bit, “I’ll start then. I like to eat – a lot. I like singing and playing guitar, but I’m not that good – “

“You’re good,” Zayn says without missing a beat. Zayn almost hits himself for letting that slip.

“Really?” Niall says looking at Zayn like an eager puppy, “You mean it?”

Zayn just shrugs at Niall.

“I like to swim. I like church. Let’s see, what else? I like footie.”

“Do you always talk this much?” Zayn quips.

“Only when the other person is named Zayn and doesn’t want to talk to me,” Niall smiles at him and bumps his shoulder to Zayn’s in a playful manner.

Zayn can’t help but smile a little bit at Niall’s eagerness. He notices the way the sun hits Niall’s eyes and makes him squint a little as he stares at the little ducks in the lake. Zayn just wants to reach out to touch Niall’s cheeks, but he decides not to – knows that he shouldn’t.

He can’t help but feel something lurch in the recess of his heart, a rising beat that he swore once to never feel again for another boy. He wants to know what Niall smells like figuring that he probably smells like sun-kissed barley – the ones that Zayn would hide in when he was little.

Zayn peels his eyes off of Niall when the other boy looks back at him – closing his eyes to push away the thoughts of awkward heart beats and golden barley. Zayn knows that he doesn’t deserve good things for a while – the camp leaders told him this themselves. They told him that the road off of sin is going to be a difficult and sometimes lonely road – that sinners don’t get to enjoy life like others do. Zayn believes them because when his mother dropped him off, the look in her eyes were a mixture of fear and disappointment that he’ll never change. He promised to change. Zayn knows that even if Niall is a good thing, Zayn doesn’t deserve him like others deserved Niall – that someone as fucked up as Zayn didn’t even deserve to be in the same parameters as Niall. He doesn’t feel angry about this, just hopeless.

 He hears his mother call him from the distance. He should’ve known that she was watching.

“Looks like I got to go,” he says to Niall.

As he walks away, he turns back to Niall and says, “I like to write and draw.” He cracks a smile and it feels weird because he doesn’t remember the last time he has genuinely smiled before. He knows that he doesn’t deserve Niall, but wants so badly for Niall to be there for him even though he’s standoffish, and is convinced that he doesn’t need help. Zayn is just so confused at the way he feels – wanting to push Niall away, but wanting Niall to try anyway.

“I’ll see you next Sunday, Zayn! Or maybe at school!” The boy waves and smiles from ear to ear. And Zayn knows that he’s in trouble.


	2. Chapter 2

_“This is going to be good for you,” His mother said as she drops him off in the middle of nowhere – a camp for those that were deemed to have lost their way. He didn’t think it would get that far. Zayn sits in the van, hesitant to get out, “Dear, it’s a camp, not hell. I’ll see you soon, I promise.”_

_He doesn’t understand many things - like if his mother loves him, why is she asking him to change? Zayn just gets out of his van and slings his bag over his shoulders, it’s only a month he reassures himself. He’s always wanted to go camping, he thinks, trying to be positive about this whole situation._

_His mother nods at him and drives off. The camp is in an isolated part of the woods in the middle of nowhere, far from his town. The evergreen trees loom over them, and the camp consists of dilapidated and wooden clusters of small buildings. Maybe he’ll make friends. Friends that’ll be like him, lost and confused._

_He registers at the table in front, and locates his room – a cabin near the lake. He’s told that he has the day off and to be ready by sunrise tomorrow. He walks into the cabin and finds three beds – two that already have clothes and suitcases near it. He wonders if he’ll like his roommates._

_He walks to the bed and starts to unpack. He brought some of his comic books, but he’ll unpack those later._

_“Hi,” someone says at the door. He’s tall for his age – a little bit awkwardly so, and his hair is a curly mess. He smiles too damn big with dimples and green eyes, and Zayn just nods at him, “I’m Harry.”_

_“Zayn,” he mumbles still unraveling his suitcase._

_“We’re gonna be best mates,” Harry says still smiling as he plops down on Zayn’s bed looking at him through bright eyes and a wide grin on his face. He pushes some of his curls away and Zayn can’t help but to smile at this kid._

_“Oh?”_

_“Yeah, I can already tell. The other kid who bunks in here is a little weird, but I like you. You have this whole mysterious thing about you.”_

_“Mysterious?” Zayn chuckles, “You barely know me.”_

_“Hence the mystery, Zayn,” he says patting Zayn’s shoulder. And Zayn can already tell that he’ll like this kid even though he’s so different from Max._

_He smiles at Harry – warming up to him already. He doesn’t know if everyone at this camp is here for the same reason, and he doesn’t know if it’s polite to ask. Do people ask about the sins that they committed in the past? Is that proper etiquette?_

_“You okay there, mate?” Harry looks at him, “You look like you either are constipated or dying to ask me a question. I hope it’s not the poop thing, are you here for uncontrollable pooping? Is that a thing? Is that a sin?” Harry looks as if some great realization has dawned on him._

_“No, none of that,” Zayn chuckles, “I just, wanted to, know like, why you’re here. If we’re all here for the same reason,” his voice trailed off at the end not sure if he has managed to mess up his potential friendship with Harry already - a new record for him, he’s sure._

_“Oh,” Harry says still smiling. Zayn wonders if his face is permanently that way with his constant smile and dimples, “Well, I got in trouble because I love everyone.”_

_“What?” Zayn says, that sentence didn’t make sense in his head._

_“I love everyone too much,” Harry says as he gestures his hands as if offering something to Zayn._

_“I’m not sure I follow. Like, why would you get in trouble for loving someone?”_

_“That’s what I’m saying,” Harry says, “But I guess it’s the way I love dudes and girls.”_

_“Oh,” Zayn raises his eyebrow not one to jump to conclusions._

_“I guess you can call me pansexual.”_

_“What, you have sex with pans?” Zayn sounds incredulous, but he’s from a small town and Harry seems like he’s from a big city, and maybe they do things differently there. Zayn doesn’t get out much._

_Harry is just cackling at him now, “Are you real?” Looking at him wiping tears out of his eyes, “It’s like, I don’t judge. Only God can judge me.”_

_Zayn wants to ask him half a million other questions, like why he’s here if he’s so comfortable in his own skin. Why would anyone force Harry to be something that he’s not – a boy with great big smiles and curly hair and dimples. Zayn thinks that it’s not fair for someone like Harry to be here, it’s not fair for him to be here either, but Zayn remains quiet as one of the camp counselors approaches the door and calls Harry’s name._

_When Harry returned that night, his face was pale, a look of horror plastered on his face, and Zayn could’ve sworn his curly locks were a little damp. He didn’t have a smile on his face anymore and he didn’t even acknowledge Zayn.  His shoulders slouch as he crawls into his own bed._

_That was when Zayn knew that this camp changes you._

*

Zayn wakes up on Wednesday to the memory of Harry. He’s relieved that this dream was of fond memories and not of the nightmare variety. Harry was the curly haired giant who didn’t judge him and abrasively stumbled into his life. When they had left the camp, Harry had not want to let Zayn go, hugging him long before everyone left, and he had promised to write.

Zayn groans at the morning sun; he’s not looking forward to start his first day of second year. He knew that Max was probably not waiting around this year. Some friend he was. No one had even wrote to him at the camp, and by the second week of camp, he gave up anticipating letters from anyone but his sisters.

After the constant nagging of his sisters who claimed that he was taking too long in the bathroom, he finds himself fidgeting with his fingers in the passenger seat of his mother’s car reluctant to leave it.

His mother put a hand on his, “Everything will be okay, dear. I am sure your friends are happy that you’re back.”

“You’re right,” he smiles even though he knew she was wrong – so utterly wrong unless someone else branded themselves as the resident freakshow, Zayn is not going to have a good year.

“Niall is starting new at this school too,” she smiles reassuringly, “So you can hang out with him – whatever you kids call it nowadays,” she throws air quotes around hang out for emphasis.

Zayn rolls his eyes at her, “Really? He’s here?” He knows he sounds too eager, but the thought of hanging out with Niall and not being alone gives him butterflies in his stomach. He’s pretty sure that if Niall knew what was good for his social status, he wouldn’t be associating himself with Zayn at all.

“Yes, you’ll be fine,” his mother shooing him out of the car, “And dear, I love you.”

And looking at her eyes, he knows she really did love him in the best way she could, “You too, mum.”

Zayn gets his assigned locker, but has no use in visiting it so far, so he just walks to his first period class. He always loved English, and it was a great way to start the day.

He stands at the door for a little bit, debating whether or not to sit in the front – automatically labeling him as both the teacher’s pet and a freakshow might not be a good idea, but then people won’t call him names that much if he sat close to the teacher. Or maybe in the back because no one would know that he was there, but if they did, they would probably badger him more. Maybe in the middle? So he can blend in? He scoffed at notion because he knew he stood out in the sea of blonde hair and blue eyes.

He opts for the back – fixes his leather jacket (it was too warm, but he wanted to give off that vibe that he was not to mess with) and wiped his sweaty palms on his black jeans. He was nervous. It was rightly so because the two girls who came in after him were already whispering about him. Max enters with a couple of other boys Zayn recognizes Jay, and after seeing Zayn, they lowered their voices to whispers and giggles. He sinks a little in his seat and decides to draw circles in his notebook to acknowledge to them that he is definitely not listening to what they were saying about him.

As more people walk in, Zayn could see that he had an invisible wall around him. No one would sit in front of him or next to him because it was as if Zayn had some contagious disease that they would all catch.

Zayn felt his eyes sting a little, and he willed himself not to cry. Crying is weakness, and Zayn was not weak. He was not.

“Hey, mate,” Niall says and smiles brightly at him. Zayn almost breaks his neck from the way he abruptly looks up at Niall – blond hair sticking out from a backwards snapback and a smile full of braces. All Zayn wanted to do was hug him because there were his classmates who just looked at him as if he had ten heads and Niall just smiles at Zayn as if Zayn was actually normal, “Is this seat taken?”

Zayn didn’t have enough confidence in himself to use his voice, so he just shook his head shyly, “Cool,” was all the other boy said, “Nice circles.” He gestured to Zayn’s notebook and Zayn turns a bright red.

“What are you doing?” Zayn hisses at Niall – he appreciates the gesture but the students still look at them with quiet menace.

“Uhh, sitting?” Niall says with confusion, “This is English right?” Niall says with wide eyes not having a clue that associating with Zayn is social suicide.

“You can’t sit next to me,” Zayn looks down at his notebook avoiding everyone’s gaze, but especially Niall’s.

“But you said it wasn’t taken? Are you saving it for a friend? That’s okay if you are, I don’t mind, I just thought that because I knew you and I’m new to this school that…” His voice trails off.

“No,” Zayn said, “you don’t want to associate yourself with me.”

Niall scrunches his face, “Why not?”

Zayn can’t tell if Niall is just daft, “Because, don’t you know who I am?”

“You’re Zayn?” Yup, either Niall is this great person or he is just incredibly daft. Zayn thinks that Niall might be a little bit of both, “Look, I hope you’re good at this English thing because I’m going to need a lot of help, so you look smart even though you’re wearing a leather jacket in this weather, which is stupid, I hope you’re ready to tutor me.”

Now it’s time for Zayn to look at Niall incredulously, not knowing what to say.

“Hi Max!” Niall waves, and Max looks at him and scoffs a little, and Zayn swears that he’s going to combust at any second. He’s so grateful that Mr. Tomlinson comes in when he does.

“Okay class, let’s begin,” and Zayn breathes a sigh knowing he was saved from the awkward situation he put himself in when his teacher started the class.

*

By the time lunch rolls around, he realizes that he only has one class with Niall. He’s sad by this fact – chewing his lips nervously. He hopes he has P.E. with Niall because he wouldn’t complain if he could see a sweaty Niall. Zayn had to wipe the smile off of his face because he shouldn’t have those kinds of thoughts, those thoughts lead him off a path that’s not good for him, not good for his beliefs.

Zayn has made it a point to look down at the ground to avoid everyone’s eyes. He holds his books close to his chest as he walks towards his locker. Zayn regrets taking all of these advanced/honors courses, but he figures that since he has no friends now, he’ll have more time to study.

Zayn’s always liked his school; he loved the way it was indoors keeping the heat out in the summer and heat in during winter.

He’s turning the knob of his locker when he sees two hands slam against the lockers – startling him. He quickly turns around and sees Max’s bald head, gangly arms, and just overall pissy and douchey face.

“What do you want, Max?” Zayn says – keeping his cool. He’s read about bullies – that you just got to stick up to them, show them they’re not afraid, and they’ll leave you alone. He’s hope all the lifetime movies, books, and afterschool specials are right.

“Just to see how my best friend is doing,” Max sneers, his eyes narrowing.

“I’m doing quite well, thanks for asking, Max,” Zayn is backed up towards the locker, so that the only thing he can see is Max’s face.

“Why are you here, Zayn? All the freaks are homeschooled,” he sniggers.

“I’m not a –“ Zayn tries not to whimper, but he knows his voice is faltering.

Max slams his hands on the lockers making Zayn jump, “Yes, you are. Listen to me, you little queer, you don’t belong here. People think I’m queer because I hung out with you.”

Zayn swallows as Max glares daggers at him, “I –“

“I don’t give a shit about what you say,” and before he knows it, Max slams his shoulder to Zayn’s chest. The impact makes his head reverberate backwards onto the locker – the impact is strong enough to knock Zayn off his feet.

In his blurred vision, he sees Max walk away as he curled his legs to his chest. He tries his best not to cry, wonders how a few months can change so much. He counts to ten, and shakes it off. How can Max change so much? Did he change? Was the one that changed? Max used to be a dick and bullied others, but never Zayn, never ever Zayn. Zayn is his mate, or was his mate. Zayn just feels so weak.

Zayn glances at where Max is walking towards the cafeteria, and he sees a shock of blond next to Max. He sees Niall’s eyes looking guiltily up to his, and Zayn can’t help but to scoff and look away.

He knew it; he knew Niall was too good to be true. He just had hoped that Niall was different. Maybe Zayn was putting too much hope in one person – that just because Niall was friendly, didn’t mean that he wanted to actually be friends with Zayn. He was probably just doing it because of his father. No, now Zayn definitely knows that he is doing it as a favor for his father. And considering that his father didn’t go to school with them, Niall didn’t have to do anything more than that.

He walks to the cafeteria, he knows he should avoid it, but he’s hungry. He figures he’ll find another place to eat – devoid of people so that he won’t get stares or an angry Max.

He’s in line for food when he notices that people are on edge around him – keeping their distance. The others fear that people might associate them with him or if they actually think whatever Zayn has is infectious. The cafeteria lunch ladies look at him in sympathy and give him more food than he actually wants.

He sees Niall approaching him – a guilty look on his face, and Zayn wants to just tell him that it’s okay. He wants to tell Niall that he forgives him, because Zayn wants to be Niall’s friend, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t say any of those things, and he can see Niall looking at him eagerly for Zayn to notice him.

“Zayn,” Niall says, his eyes a sharp kind of blue. A kind of blue that meets the shoreline on a sandy beach, and Zayn wishes so badly that he wasn’t Zayn – that he was someone else that could hang out with Niall and Max, and laugh at stupid teenage boy stuff. He wishes he can make fun of the other kids or tell a girl that she’s fit and take her to dance, but he can’t. If he met Niall under different circumstances, then maybe it could’ve been different. Now, all Zayn has is his pride, and his pride can’t watch Niall try his best to pretend to be his friend when he obviously doesn’t want to.

“Don’t,” Zayn says, “You’ve made it quite clear with the company you’re keeping.” Zayn gestures his head to Max sitting at the cafeteria table.

Zayn walks out of the cafeteria with his lunch. He finds himself in a bathroom stall – sitting curled up on the toilet seat and making sure the door is locked. He fidgets with the food on his tray, trying his hardest to not cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you like it? Leave a comment if you do?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short chapter update because the next chapter is a little bit long! Please comment if you have any suggestions or if you like it so far!

_At sunrise, Zayn is awoken by what sounds like church bells in the distance. He rubs his eyes groggily, and notices that the sun’s not even out yet. What has he gotten himself into? No one should be allowed to wake up this early. He finds Harry’s gangly legs touching the floor, and he looks just as bad as Zayn feels._

_“Morning mate,” Harry tries to smile. Zayn just nods at him and tries his hardest to put on his clothes without falling back to sleep._

_A camp counselor swings their door open, she’s smiling from ear to ear, “Good morning, campers! We have an amazing day ahead of us today – full of Grace. Please be ready in fifteen minutes as we will have our morning sermon and tell you more about our daily schedule. It will be so much fun, I promise you!”_

_Zayn tries his hardest to not roll his eyes at the counselor whose blonde hair keeps falling in her face. No one should be that happy in the morning, ever._

_By the time they are out of their rooms, the morning sun peers lazily through the evergreen trees, leaving little spots of sunlight here and there. It’s still a little dark, but Zayn’s eyes are adjusting._

_They are hoarded in a tiny room that barely fits all the boys- the camp counselors are all wearing blue polos and have the appropriate cross pendant necklaces showing. They are all smiles as the boys shuffle in and forced to sit in a circle, Zayn notices all the boys are more uncomfortable than he is._

_He looks to the front of the room, and he gets an uneasy feeling in his stomach. It’s a sort of feeling of queasiness as he gazes at the man sitting in the front of the room. He sends a shiver down Zayn’s spine as he smiles through horned rim glasses. His balding hair combed to the side. He has a sneer full of yellow teeth that contrasts drastically against his pale skin. He sits in a giant wooden chair with his hands crossed against his chest._

_“Welcome, my sons,” he leans forward, and as he does so, Zayn notices that Harry is twiddling with his thumbs and biting his bottom lip. Zayn notices that Harry looks directly at the ground, letting his curly hair cover his eyes, “I am Minister Abbot. This is a sacred place of worship. I promise you that you will see the light. I promise you that we will make you better. I promise that we will change you. For the better.”_

_Zayn tries his hardest to focus on what the man says, but he finds himself zoning in and out – never being the person to pay attention any type of church._

_“You will all spend some personal time with me as I will guide you on the path of renewal. We shall guide you through the dark and treacherous path you have found yourselves on. Remember, God is good. And He is forgiving. Your camp counselors will tell you what to do next, and I will pull some of you aside to get to know you better.”_

_He’s glad that Harry’s in the same Worship group as him, and he notices that boys’ names are called one after another by the minister. Every boy that leaves the minister’s office looks terrified, shaking as they walk back to their groups, jumpy when people say their names. The minister has a wide grin on his face – one that makes Zayn avert his gaze. Something inside of Zayn is telling him to run as fast as he can away from the minister, away from this place._

_He’s lucky that Harry and his last names are close to each other in the alphabet. He’s noticed that there are only four people per group, and there’s not that many boys here in the first place. He wonders to himself if all the boys are here for the same reason._

_“Malik, Zayn!” He sees Harry tense up next to him, grabbing Zayn’s arm so tightly in desperation, not wanting to let him go. He looks at Harry who has a look of immense fear on his face._

_“I, I, Zayn, I’m,” Harry’s eyes are wide with fear, and he’s stumbling with his words, which makes Zayn’s stomach even more queasy. Whatever the minister is doing to these boys, he knows that it must be terrifying, and he knows that he’s next, “We’ll get through this together, Zayn.” He’s almost gotten used to the slow drawl of Harry’s voice, but all that comes out now is shakiness – a fear that can’t be pushed down no matter how hard Harry tries._

_Zayn makes his way to the minister’s office, and as he enters, the minister’s warm hand is pressed on the small of his back, “I’ve heard about you, Zayn Malik,” the minister says; his voice guttural. A voice that he will always keep somewhere locked up in the confines of his mind; a voice that lingers and reverberates in his skull whenever he thinks of fit boys with nice arms. It’s the voice that tells Zayn that he should never sin that way again._

_*_

Zayn lays in a field of barley outstretching to where the sun meets the horizon.  He feels the wind rustling through the fields, drowning out everything else. The wind whispers sweet lullabies, reassuring Zayn that the sadness he feels today is just a brief interlude leading him to something greater – that his future is like the vast sea of barley in front of him, limitless and golden.  He inhales in his cigarette – the arid taste filling his lungs, making him feel dried out. He loves the feeling it gives him, the lightheadedness and the dry taste that remains on his tongue.  He looks at the sun setting in the distance, an orange hue lingers where the sky meets the earth in the distance.  If only Zayn can stay here forever – hidden underneath the barley, safe from the world. Zayn knows that within a few months, the coming winter will not be kind to these barley fields, so he tries to make the best of it.

There is a certain kind of happiness within loneliness. Zayn was not used to being alone, but after all that has happened today, he’d much rather be alone than face anyone right now.

“Baby brother!” He hears in the distance, the sound of Doniya’s voice stirs him from his reverie. He sits up and sees Doniya running towards him.

“Doniya,” he smiles, “What are you doing here?”

“Mom told me I can take the car,” she sits down next to Zayn, leaning her head on his shoulder, “Music store time? Pleaseeee?”

Zayn groans, he doesn’t want to interact with people right now.

“Come on,” Doniya whines, “For me?”

“Fine,” she jumps at him, the hug collision causes them to both fall in a tangle of limbs, “My hair, Doniya! My hair!”

She smiles, “Get over yourself, Z.”

They are in the car when Zayn rolls down the window to light up a cigarette.

“No, sir,” Doniya slaps his hand away from the lighter, “You are not getting me in trouble for smoking in our parents’ car. And that shit will give you lung cancer.”

Zayn snorts and puts it away anyway. He would like to say that he’s not afraid of a lot of things, but this summer has reminded him that there was more to fear. But this did not mean that he forgot that his sister was also something to fear with her stubborn attitude and her penchant for speaking her mind and getting into trouble for it.

“Hey, I missed you at lunch today,” Doniya says, eyes still fixated on the road, “You weren’t at Max’s table. Niall was there, so I assumed you would be too.”

Zayn knows exactly where his sister is going with this; she’s too perceptive for her own good. He decides to let his silence answer for him.

“You know, Zayn,” she takes her eyes off the road to look at him for a bit, “You can always hang out with me. I’m quite popular, you know, and I’m really pretty.”

Zayn throws his unlit cigarette at her as she giggles, “Wouldn’t want to tarnish your reputation then with your brother being the residential freak.”

“Hey,” Doniya’s voice changes from teasing to stern within seconds, and Zayn almost apologizes because he meant it as a joke even though it’s a little self-deprecating, “Don’t call yourself that. You’re not a freak. And I hated Max anyway. He was, actually, is probably still a dick.”

“Doniya,” he decides that he wants to tell her everything. He wants someone to know, and not his parents or his younger sisters or Niall. He trusts Doniya, “Max and I aren’t friends anymore. He made that quite clear when he pushed me against my own locker.”

“What, why didn’t you tell me?” She’s almost screaming now as she turns into a parking space too small for the van, “I’m going to punch that guy on his bald head one of these days, I swear.”

“He’s not worth it, Dee,” Zayn says underneath his breath, “he’s just a bully.”

“Why is Niall hanging with that jerk anyway?”

“Not my problem,” Zayn says as he walks into the music store; he won’t admit to himself that Niall hanging out with Max is a problem, a problem that really bothers him. There’s not much entertainment in the small farming town, but the music store, aptly called Music!, was one of Zayn’s favorite places. He used to always go here with Max on Saturdays, listening to all the great CDs and albums they had. Max and him had shared some intimate details about their lives to each other on the way to the store. They made plans to get out of this small town when they were old enough, promised each other that they would go see all the bands and musicians that Zayn and Max thought were awesome.

 Zayn wonders if he’s ever going to get to see that Max again – the one who laughed at Zayn’s jokes, the ones he made promises with, the one that made fun of him for reading comic books.

The store is decked out in high ceilings full of albums, and rows upon rows of music CDs and album records, each row having a few headphones that they uploaded with different tracks from different albums. In the back hangs a few dozen guitars, and Zayn has always wanted one, but he’s never learned, and no one in his family is musically literate to say the least.

The walls are also filled with posters of bands that he wishes he could see in concert, but they would never come to such a small town. The posters make him envious of everyone who doesn’t live in a small town and makes him miss Harry just a little.

He stops at the entrance when he sees the blond hair at the cash register, of course he would work here. Of course the stupid guitar playing, backwards hat wearing, blue-eyed boy would work at a music store. He sees Zayn and smiles from ear to ear. Zayn looks away almost immediately.

“You didn’t tell me he worked here, Doniya,” Zayn looks at his sister pleading.

She shrugs, “Uhh, I didn’t know either. He wasn’t working last time,” Noticing the expression on Zayn’s face, Doniya bumps her shoulder into his side, “Aw come on, don’t be such a wet blanky.”

“I’m not a wet blanket,” Zayn refuses to move any further inside the store, and his sister has to forcibly drag him to the different aisle of CDs. Now that he thinks about it, he refuses to let Niall ruin his favorite place in town. He’s not quite sure if he hates Niall yet or is just annoyed of him, but he knows he feels something.

He rummages through the different tracks, some of the albums he already owns. He especially likes Frank Ocean’s Channel Orange, but he still finds himself listening to Forrest Gump on the store’s headphones. He makes quite sure to not let the headphones ruin his hair. Closing his eyes, he lets the lines echo in his head, _Forrest Gump, you run my mind, boy._  He taps his fingers on the stand along with the beat, and hums the tune. He places his headphones back on the rack and is startled when Niall’s standing next to him, “Nice choice in music, mate.”

Zayn scoffs and moves on. He has mastered the technique of the cold shoulder years ago from Doniya. His sister has managed to steer every guy she was uninterested in far away from her.

“Please,” Niall grabs Zayn’s arm, “Zayn.”

He shrugs Niall off. Niall is following him around like a lost puppy with his wide eyes and his annoying snapback, “Don’t you have customers to help?”

“You’re a customer,” Niall offers, adjusting his hat, “I just wanted to say –“

“That you’re sorry? Or wait, let me guess, that you’re not sorry?”

“No,” Niall stammers, “I mean, I _am_ sorry, but Max asked me to hang out with him, and you didn’t want me to even sit next to you in English class. I don’t know what you want, Zayn,” Zayn hates the way Niall is so earnest. He hates the way Niall says his name, the way it rolls off his tongue in his Irish accent. He also hates the way Niall puts his hand to his heart as if it means something. He especially hates the way he wants to accept Niall’s apology, but he doesn’t want to get hurt anymore, “Like, I wanted to help you. And I immediately felt bad afterwards, you have to understand, Zayn, I didn’t, I’m sorry, my father didn’t raise me to be like that.”

“You talk too much,” Zayn says – a little bit teasing and a little bit truthful. Niall steps back a little.

“I get it, though. Max is a good guy, he showed me around when I just got into town. We live really close to each other, he’s been through some stuff, but I know he can be a shower of cunts sometimes.”

“A shower of cunts?”

“Yeah, you know, like would you want to get caught in a shower of cunts?” Niall asks as if the question actually made any sense.

“Erm, I guess not.” Zayn can’t help but smile a little.

“So am I forgiven?” Niall flashes his bright smile.

“Forgiven for what? What did the jerk do this time?” Doniya asks as she approaches the two boys, putting an arm over her brother’s shoulders. Zayn has always felt that Doniya was too protective of him, but he doesn’t step away from Doniya this time.

“It’s nothing, Doniya,” Zayn says as Doniya doesn’t take her eyes off of Niall. Zayn almost laughs because Niall seems to shrink underneath Doniya’s gaze, “Do you want to leave, Zayn? We can.”

“Okay,” Zayn doesn’t know why he’s so conflicted all the time, he wants to stay and talk to Niall, wants to hear what Niall has to say about the whole situation, perhaps even wants Niall to explain why Max is a shower of cunts, but he wants to leave too. He tries to push the knots of confusion down – the parts of him that tell him that Niall is just a boy who is doing what his father wants, and Zayn shouldn’t have any kind of attraction towards him, but he does.

“Can I still sit next to you in English?” Niall asks as Doniya leads Zayn towards the exit.

Zayn turns his head, “It’s up to you.” And Zayn swears there was a time when he was wittier, more sarcastic, and less muted. But all Zayn can do is appear apathetic when he’s trying to control all the emotions inside of him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a huge chapter to make up for the last one! Hope you enjoy! Also, this does have triggerwarning!homophobic slurs.

_Zayn’s lungs are on fire._

_“May God forgive you for your sins.”_

_Zayn swears that this is how he’s going to die._

_“May He cleanse you with the water He has blessed.”_

_Zayn can barely make out the minister’s voice. His eyes sting from the water._

_“May you never sin again.”_

_And his face plunges into the holy water again._

_“May you think of this water when you think of sinning.”_

_He struggles and flails his arms back and forth, but the minister’s hand on the back of his head is a vice grip._

_He swallows too much water._

_“May God guide you through this.”_

_The minister pulls Zayn by the back of his hair. Zayn gasps for air._

_“Are you going to sin again, my son?” The minister sneers._

_Zayn gasps, “No, please,” There are blotches of light around his eyes, he can’t focus on anything. He’s heaving heavily; he feels like he’s going to die from the lack of oxygen; his lungs are on fire._

_“No, sir,” the minister tightens his grip on Zayn’s hair._

_“No, sir.” Zayn now knows why everyone’s so terrified of the minister. His whole body is shaking. He wants to cry, but he’s not sure if he’s capable of it._

_“Dry yourself off, I’ll see you again soon, my son.”_

_That’s when the nightmares began._

*

Zayn had woken up today just not in the mood for anything. He felt like he was going through the motions, and he knows exactly why. He was wondering when his nightmares would come back, and today, he woke up crying in cold sweat again; the dream of drowning coming back in full force. He can still remember the way he felt the water fill his lungs. He can hear the minister’s voice scraping the back of his mind like sharp sandpaper, and he especially cannot get over the feeling of lightheadedness. Zayn wish to never feel that way again; Zayn made a promise to himself that he will do whatever it takes to not feel that again.

Before he knew it, it was lunch time. Zayn walks out to the hallway to see his sister waiting for him. He has been trying to avoid Niall the whole day, and so far, it’s working – Niall had barely said a word to him in English, but Zayn and Niall kept playing this weird game of looking at each other and avoiding each other’s eyes whenever they would meet.

He’s snapped out of his reverie a second time by his sister standing there – all smiles with her hands akimbo.

“Doniya, I don’t need babysitting,” Doniya huffs a little and hooks her arm into his.

She says, sternly, “You’re sitting with my girls today at lunch, no more hiding,” Zayn has to admire his sister’s tenacity.

“Fine,” Zayn says as he slings his backpack over his shoulder. He decided to only wear a red plaid shirt today and to forego the leather jacket look. The September heat still makes his arms sticky from sweat at times, “But can I drop off my books?”

“If we must, Zee,” Doniya says mock seriously, “If we must.”

Zayn and Doniya walk and banter down the hallway to Zayn’s locker. Zayn realizes that he has missed his sister when he was away in camp, and he is not sure when she turned from pesky, annoying big sister to a caring one, but he likes it. He thinks the world of her, even though Zayn and Doniya were worlds apart. He sees himself as a sort of simmering fire while Doniya was a fire that burned passionately and intensely. He wished he could be more like her, but ever since he came back from the camp, he felt himself even more muted – afraid to let his thoughts pour out of his lips in fear of saying something sinful, in fear of provoking God.

Zayn is telling Doniya a joke Mr. Tominlinson had said in his class when all of a sudden she stops suddenly. Zayn sees Doniya’s eyes widen, and he follows her gaze towards his locker. He stops breathing. His heart feels like someone has a vice grip on it, and he’s too stunned for tears. He tries to blink to see if he’s just imagining the word that’s etched on his locker. He’s trying his best to will the word away, but someone had smeared FAGGOT heinously over his locker – in deep, black, spray paint. He’s too numb to feel anything. He’s too numb to feel his sister shifting next to him.

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” she’s angry enough so that Zayn tears his eyes away from his locker to his sister. She’s fuming, “Enough.”

The next thing Zayn knows, Doniya is dragging him into the cafeteria. He doesn’t have the mental capability right now to acknowledge what’s going on, but he knows he doesn’t want to be in the cafeteria; he’s almost certain that other people have seen what was written on his locker – he tries to shake the word from his head, but the image seems to be hardwired in his brain.

Everyone’s looking at them, and Zayn just wants to crawl in a hole six foot deep and die. Zayn doesn’t understand why this is happening to him; he didn’t do anything wrong. Okay, so kissing the minister’s boy was wrong, but did it warrant this? Did he really deserve all of this? He thought he paid his dues when he went to that camp. He thought that the camp was enough of a punishment.

Doniya stomps into the cafeteria making sure people are looking at her. She drags Zayn by his arm. Her nails dig into his forearm, but he doesn’t care about that. He cares about all the eyes fixated on them. She stops in front of a laughing Max, and before he even realizes, she slaps the milk carton from his hand.

“What the fuck is your problem?” Max screams as he stands up and looks at her – his eyes filled with rage, milk all over his clothes, but he’s no match for Doniya’s threatening glare. Zayn swears that Max is taller than Doniya, but Doniya’s presence makes everyone around her look smaller.

The whole cafeteria grows silent, “What’s my problem? What’s your childhood trauma, Maximillian? Tell me. Tell me right now if it was necessary to write that on Zayn’s locker.” She steps forward – inches away from Max’s face.

Whispers reach a deafening level in the cafeteria. He shrinks a little more underneath all that scrutiny.

Max’s face contorts into a twisted smile that makes Zayn want to throw up. He tries to hide himself behind his sister. He looks at Niall too, but Niall avoids his gaze altogether.

“I was just trying to send people a message, Doniya,” Max says calmly.

Doniya inches closer to Max, “What, that you’re a deranged lunatic and a fucking bully?”

“No, God hates fags, Doniya,” the room grows quiet now, and Zayn visibly winces at the word, “Your brother, is definitely a fag.”

“How fucking dare you,” Doniya hisses, “You ignorant prick.” In a blur of movement, Zayn sees his sister swing at Max, the impact of Doniya’s closed fist to Max’s face causes him to tumble backwards.

Everyone breaks out in a flurry of movements. Zayn can’t tell between shouting and the commotion of movement, but Zayn is in utter shock and sees that Niall does not know what to do with himself. The poor blond boy has his eyes so wide that in any other situation, Zayn would laugh at how ridiculous he looked, but he can tell that Niall is horrified.

“That was for God, Max,“ Doniya says with a smile, and Zayn swears his sister is demented. She is demented and they’re all going to get detention, suspension, expulsion, and probably a ticket to hell. Max’s nose is bleeding profusely and Zayn is rooted in place – too stunned to move as his sister walks away from the crime scene as if nothing happened.

Max looks up at Zayn, trying to wipe away the blood as he stands up, “So you’re not just a fag, you’re a sissy that lets his bitch of a sister do all of his fighting for him.” He looks maniacal as the blood refuses to stop running from his nose.

Doniya turns around, the smile wiped from her face, “What in the hell did you call me?”

Zayn’s eyes narrow into slits. He steps in front of his sister. He sticks out his arm to stop her from going any further. Zayn might be quiet; Zayn might still fear God, but Zayn is not going to let this asshole talk badly about someone he loves. He knows he’s scrawnier than Max, but he doesn’t give a fuck in that instance, “What did you say about my sister?”

Zayn can vaguely hear the crowd chant, “Fight, fight, fight!” But someone else screams out, “Teach the fag a lesson!” And this rings in Zayn’s ears. Zayn is clenching his fists so tight that his knuckles are a burning white.

Max takes a swing at Zayn, but Zayn is too fast. The crowd screams louder, but Zayn can barely hear anything as the adrenaline pumps through his veins, surges through every fiber in his being, and his vision tunnels on Max, “I said, she’s a bit-“

Before Max can finish his sentence, Zayn pounces at him, grabs him by his waist and slams him to the floor. Before Max can react, Zayn is on top of him; he sees red. Everything is a blur and all Zayn can see is Max shouting at him as he punches Max again and again.

Max is flailing left and right, but Zayn doesn’t feel anything. The adrenaline rushing in him filters out any pain, any images, any shouting.

He barely hears his name when he is pulled off of him by both Niall and his sister. Mr. Tomlinson trying to get Max on his feet, and the principal, Mr. Allen, comes rushing in – his face stern and furious.

“I did it for God, Mr. Allen, I swear!” Doniya screams, holding her hands up like she’s innocent, almost bursting into laughter. Zayn’s not quite as happy as his sister, he’s still seeing red and he’s breathing hard as Niall is rubbing circles in his back with his other hand still firmly gripping Zayn’s arm.

Zayn looks at him, and he can feel himself gritting his teeth – still hissing and breathing hard. Niall looks at him intently, and a wave of blue comes over Zayn – the kind of blue that meets the shore, the kind of blue that makes Zayn’s heavy lungs heave a little less. He feels himself calming down. Niall touches Zayn’s eyebrow, and Zayn almost flinches from the sudden contact, “You’re bleeding,” is all he says as he tries to touch the cut on Zayn’s eyebrow.

“Into my office, all of you,” Mr. Allen says, as they are all escorted away from the mess in the cafeteria. Doniya’s face drops, but Zayn can easily tell that he is more afraid than his sister. Mr. Tomlinson makes sure to walk right between Max and Zayn to avoid any other break outs in fights, “That includes you too,” Mr. Allen says as he points to Niall.

 “It’s Niall, sir,” he says almost too quiet to hear. Niall follows the crowd out of the cafeteria; his face is a mixture of horror and sadness. He doesn’t look at Zayn anymore, but Zayn can still feel his grip on Zayn’s arm, and it’s almost comforting to have it there even though Niall is gripping a little too hard.

“You all need Jesus,” Mr. Tomlinson sniggers as Mr. Allen looks disapproving at him, “Even you, new kid Horan.”

Doniya hears this and tries to stifle a laugh, “I’ve always liked you, Mr. Tomlinson.”

“I find myself quite fond of you too, Doniya,” Mr. Allen huffs at Mr. Tomlinson, and Zayn thinks everyone around here is crazy.

They all sit in the principal’s office as Mr. Allen calls their parents in the other room. Max presses an icepack to his eye with a disgruntled look on his face.  Zayn looks at Max and winces – a little bit impressed and a little bit scared of himself. Zayn’s never been here before, but he is sure that his sister has; she has gotten in a lot of trouble even though she’s one of the smartest in her class. Doniya looks too smug, and Zayn swears he didn’t know his sister was this demented, and Niall keeps fidgeting in his seat – looking more like a child than ever. He catches Zayn’s eyes and gives him a weak smile. All Zayn can do is smile back meekly.

Niall whispers to him, “I don’t condone violence or anything, but that was awesome,” he says into Zayn’s ear.

Zayn almost laughs aloud at that.

Mr. Allen steps into the office, his tie loosened around his neck.  He has bags underneath his eyes, and the harsh fluorescent light bounces off his bald head. Zayn always thought of Mr. Allen as a kind old man and a fair principal, but he just looks pissed off right now, “I called your parents, your father is not very pleased about this, Max.”

Zayn can see Max cower in his seat; Zayn knows what kind of father Max has. The kind where Max shows up to Zayn’s houses too many times before with bruises that he blamed on tripping on stairs. Zayn knows, and he almost feels sorry for Max, and he would feel more empathy if Max wasn’t such an asshole to Zayn ever since he came back.

“Now tell me what caused this.”

Max scoffs. Mr. Allen looks from Niall to Zayn, but Zayn just feels so terrified right now because the last time he was in an office, he was forced to confront his sins. Doniya glares at Max, “I’ll tell you, Mr. Allen. Max here is an asshole, obviously fucked up in the head, and he spray painted something nasty on my brother’s wall.”

“I will not tolerate that kind of language in here, Ms. Malik,” He turns to Max, “Is this true?”

“She has no proof that I did it,” Max says, a smug look on his face as he presses the icepack on his face.

Doniya huffs and crosses her arms, “I know you did it, don’t even pretend like you didn’t, Max. You can’t lie to God” She says sarcastically, and he can hear Niall stifle a giggle.  Zayn is afraid that Mr. Allen won’t be able to hold back Doniya if she decides to jump over him and beat up Max. Mr. Allen just looks disappointedly at Doniya and decides to ignore her statement.

“He did,” Niall says quietly. Zayn almost didn’t hear him, but Niall repeats it, “He did, Mr. Allen, I saw it.”

“You snitch!” Max screams, “You’re a snitch!”

“Well, you’re a dick, Max!” Niall screams back, his fist clenching the armrest, “In fact, you’re a bag of dicks! You’re a bag of dicks and you deserve it!”

Doniya laughs hysterically, and Zayn can’t help but laugh at Niall’s choice of words.

“Mr. Horan, that is enough!” Mr. Allen’s voice is booming and it silences all of them.

“Now, you’re all suspended – except for you Niall, although I do not appreciate your choice words there. You three have blatantly violated a school rule, and there must be consequences. You, Max, have violated two – I will not tolerate you vandalizing school property,” Mr. Allen says, “I honestly was not expecting this from you, Zayn, at all. I am quite disappointed.”

Zayn looks crestfallen, and he wonders how this will affect his permanent record. He still wants to get out of this town when he graduates, and he hopes this little debacle doesn’t affect his chances.

“Excuse me, sir,” Doniya interrupts, “With all due respect, you are disappointed that Max vandalized school property? You are not disappointed that Max wrote a horrible message on Zayn’s locker? You are not disappointed that one of your students used a homophobic slur against another student? You are not offended that Max made Zayn feel unsafe _in your school_? My brother literally hid from the cafeteria, and you’re disappointed that your precious locker was vandalized?” Doniya looks directly at Mr. Allen, challenging him, “Lord Jesus, did I suddenly get time warped to the ‘50s or what.” By now, Zayn is not even remotely surprised by Doniya’s behavior, but he does see Niall visibly gulp.

Mr. Allen just looks at her with an unreadable expression. A silence fills the room before he says, “I see your point, Ms. Malik. I will privately and personally deal with Max’s _ignorance_.” Max groans a little as Doniya sticks her tongue at him, “Mr. Horan, you can go back to your class now. As for you three,” Mr. Allen waves his pencil, “your parents will be arriving soon.”

This pointedly elicits groans out of all of them, and Niall looks at Zayn one last time, “I’ll talk to you later,” and he’s out the door. Zayn doesn’t know why, but the room feels a lot tenser without Niall.

“Now, I am quite terrified to leave you three alone in the room; I do not want any more bloodshed for today, so you three are just going to have to sit quietly until your parents come.”

Mr. Allen looks to his computer and starts typing – sighing every now and then while Doniya crosses her arms and looks blankly at the ceiling. Max starts to shake his leg, growing ever nervous about his father coming to pick him up.

Ever since Zayn could remember, it had only been Max and his father. Max used to tell Zayn that Max’s mother died giving birth to him, and when he had relayed that information to his own parents, all he got were sympathy nods and a hint of avoidance. It wasn’t until one day when Zayn had slept over Max’s house that he found out the truth.

Max’s father had drunkenly fallen over the toilet, and Zayn had found him when he woke up in desperate need to pee. He was so terrified at the sight of the man leaning over the toilet in what smelled like piss and throw up; he’d thought Mr. George had rightly died on that toilet seat. He ran to wake up Max, and Max and Zayn had to carry Mr. George (a man who was twice their size with a stomach full of booze) to his bedroom. It was then that he heard Mr. George say to Max, “You have your mother’s eyes – the bitch that left you here with me.” Zayn pretended not to hear it, but Max’s eyes became glassy and they didn’t speak of it ever again.

It’s still so weird for Zayn – to have been so close to Max, and now he’s just a stranger sitting next to him. He thought that if anyone would understand, it would be Max, because they were kindred spirits – both broken inside, from something that they had no control over. He wanted Max to understand, but instead, all he got from Max was anger and a sort of judgment that he never saw coming. This ripped him apart because he still wanted to tell Max that he would be there for him – after his father’s drunken slurs, after the belt lashes, after the mental and physical blows.

Zayn can’t help but to stare at Max now, the bruises that he left on Max’s face makes Zayn wince; how could he have done this to Max? How could he have done what Max’s father did every time he drank too goddamn much? Zayn wants to say he’s sorry, but before he could open his mouth, Max’s father barges in the door.

Even Zayn cowers at the sight of Max’s father in his oily mechanic suit with eyes glossed with pure hatred. He squirms at the sight of him, surprised that no one else in the room is affected. He sees Max cower in his seat, doing whatever possible to avoid his father’s gaze.

“In the car,” his father says, “Now.”

Mr. Allen stands from his desk, “Mr. George, I need to have a conversation with you and your son in private, it will only take a few minutes. Take a seat outside, Doniya and Zayn.”

Both him and his sister get up; they avoid making contact with Mr. George. Before Zayn leaves, he hesitates at the doorway. He looks back at Max, and Max is still trying his best to look anywhere but his father.

“Mr. Malik?” Mr. Allen asks.

“Max,” Zayn says quietly, he’s not even sure if Max can hear because he doesn’t get a response or anything, “I’m sorry.”

Zayn waits for a reply, but when he realizes he’s not going to get one, he walks out and sits next to his sister. His sister’s fidgeting with her phone; Zayn’s pretty sure she’s not allowed to have that phone on school grounds – especially in the office.

“You’re not supposed to have a phone out on campus,” Zayn remarks.

“Really,” Doniya says and smiles at him, “Zayn, after all that has happened today, I’m pretty sure I give zero fucks.”

The secretary looks at them and tells them to mind their language. Zayn and Doniya both look at each other and laugh. It is times like these that make Zayn think that Doniya is both crazy and amazing. She can diffuse a situation with her laugh, change a mood with a smile. Zayn really wishes he could be like that.

“Uh oh, parental units incoming,” Zayn whispers, and immediately Doniya stops laughing and looks at down at her feet. Zayn knows he should be afraid of what his parents are going to say, but simply is too tired and too wired to care. What could his parents dish out as punishment that’s worse than having the word faggot smeared across your locker? What could his parents even do this time – send him to a camp for anger management? Do those types of camps even exist?

“Mom,” Doniya stands up. Their father has an unreadable expression on his face. Zayn fears this more than a look of anger, “Dad, I can explain.”

“Not another word until we get home,” their mother says – her voice like ice sending chills down their spine. His mother was pissed; Zayn’s thankful that he can at least gage how angry she is.

Mr. Allen’s door opens, and Max’s eyes do not meet theirs at all. He continues walking and does not want for any greeting. Zayn’s mother gasps when she sees what Zayn has done to the boy – clasping a hand over her mouth.

“I’m sorry,” his mother pleads with Mr. George, “I don’t know what has gotten into my son. Your son did not deserve this.” That’s great, that’s fucking great, Zayn thinks. What about him? Zayn knows he shouldn’t have beat the shit out of Max, but it would be nice to think that his own mother would have his back.

Mr. George just grunts and follows his son.

“Are you kidding me?” Zayn blurts out – too angry to control any of his emotions, “You’re kidding me, right?” Zayn doesn’t want to make a scene or cause any more trouble, but he’s tired of this. He’s tired of everyone apologizing for his behavior. He’s not in the wrong here; he doesn’t deserve to be bullied. No one deserves the shit he has to go through.

“Zayn,” his mother says calmly, “Do not make a scene. I did not raise you to be like this.”

“No, I suppose you didn’t, mom,” his tone drips of sarcasm, and he could see Doniya shift uncomfortably next to him, “I suppose you didn’t; I suppose you didn’t raise me to be a faggot, did you?” He can see his mother wince at the word, but he’s angry and he just wants to kick something, “You didn’t raise your son to have the devil in him, did you? You didn’t raise a son that gets pushed against lockers or gets sent away to damn conversion camps or gets faggot written on his locker, did you?”

It’s his father that intervenes, “Zayn Jawaad Malik!” His father’s voice silences him, silences the whole room actually. All eyes are on Zayn now, and he frankly does not give a shit, “That is enough, young man! To the car. Now.”

Zayn just scoffs. His father’s face has turned into something furious, but Zayn simply lost the will to care at the moment. 


	5. Chapter 5

_“Harry,” Zayn whispers in the darkness. He knows this is a bad idea, a completely bad idea, but Harry is his friend, and since Zayn didn’t have many friends here, he wanted to show Harry that he is down for this, “What if we get caught?”_

_Harry smiles in the darkness, “Don’t worry, Zayn, we won’t, it’s just up ahead.”_

_Zayn follows Harry through the campgrounds; he can barely make anything out, and the rustling around him sends shivers down his spine. His eyes are adjusting as the moon slithers through the cracks of tall trees._

_“You know, if we were in a horror movie,” Zayn lets out a nervous laugh, “We’d be dead by now.”_

_“Zayn, this camp is a horror movie,” Harry says, his voice sullen._

_Harry stops in front of him, and Zayn notices the lake. He hears crickets in the distance, and he smiles at the pale moonlight reflecting off the water. It looks like something out of a dream, the way it calms Zayn with its serenity._

_Harry walks forward and rolls up his pants’ legs. He puts his feet in the water and gestures for Zayn to sit next to him on the dock. They sit awhile like that in silence, enjoying each other’s company. He didn’t know when it happened, but he feels like Harry and him were destined to meet. They were destined to suffer through this together, and they were destined to help each other get over this mess._

_Harry breaks the silence with,“If my mother knew what she signed me up for, I don’t think she ever could forgive herself, you know?” Zayn nods and he’s used to the drawl in Harry’s voice. The way his voice drags out longer than it needs to be, and Zayn finds comfort in this little nuance._

_Zayn looks out at the lake, takes everything in from the cool night air and the chirping in the distance, “Yeah,” is all that he can say before he reverts back to kicking the water._

_“I don’t think I’m going to tell her,” Harry looks at Zayn intently, “I don’t think I’m gonna tell her what happened here. It’s probably for the best.”_

_Zayn looks at Harry now and wonders if he will ever be brave like Harry, if he will ever be as caring as Harry, if he will ever be as thoughtful as Harry. Zayn smiles, “This camp’s not that bad.”_

_“How so?” Harry inquires._

_“Like, I got to meet you, didn’t I?” Zayn says as Harry wiggles his feet in the water, “I got to meet someone who, like, honestly cares for me. I think that’s all that matters.”_

_“Do you think they changed you?” Harry leans in and rests his head on his shoulders. This friendship that Zayn had built with Harry was so easy, he thought. In less than a month, Harry and him had grown a mutual and deep understanding for each other._

_“What do you mean?” Harry’s hair tickles his neck a bit, but he doesn’t mind the close contact._

_“Are you,” Harry pauses, “Not gay anymore?”_

_“Still am,” Zayn says after a brief pause. Even amidst all that has happened here, he knows that he can trust Harry enough to tell it like it is._

_“Me too,” Harry says lower than a whisper, “Whatever it is I am.”_

_“But we can’t,” Zayn starts, “Or at least I can’t. When I go back, my mother’ll think I’m cured. And I’ll let her think that because that’s easier. It’s easier to pretend than to be ostracized.”_

_“Ostrichcized?” Harry asks as he raises one of his eyebrows._

_“Excluded,” Zayn says as he bits his lips, “I just want to be normal again.”_

_“Zayn, you’re not, you know, normal,” Zayn looks down at Harry, slightly offended, “I mean, you’re not normal. You’re awesome; you’re meant to be so much more. You don’t have to be normal. Normal’s boring.”_

_Zayn nods. Zayn knows he’s still whatever he is. That no matter what they tried to do to him, he still thinks this way. He still gets tingles whenever he thinks of certain boys, the ways their muscles flex, the way they look rougher than girls, the way they move. Zayn’s pretty sure he’s still attracted to boys, but he’s learned to repress those kinds of thoughts. He’s learned to bury his attraction for boys deep within him – hiding the parts that he thinks society won’t like._

_He’s learned that he’s still whatever he is, but he’s also learned to be afraid._

*

Zayn locks himself in his room. He stares at the page of sketchpad in front of him – not noticing that he has drawn faces of Harry and Niall on the parchment from memory. He knows he should apologize to his parents for overreacting, but he doesn’t want to, not yet. He basically just wants to sulk and brood for a few minutes, maybe a few months, and never leave his room.

He’s not angry anymore, just a little frustrated at the whole situation. He doesn’t really blame his parents, and it was fair of them to put him on room lock down for a month. He even laughed a little when they dealt that punishment; it wasn’t as if his friends were pounding down the door to hang out with him. He knows if Harry was here, it would be a different story. Actually, if Harry was here, he’d probably be sneaking into Zayn’s window right about now with his curly hair and shit-eating grin.

He hears a knock on the door, and he immediately groans, “Whatever it is, I don’t want it.”

“Are you sure?” He hears his little sister, Waliyha, through the door, “He seems nice _and_ cute.”

Zayn gets up so fast from his desk that his chair falls over, he swings the door open to see Niall standing there smiling at him with a mouth full of braces that would make anyone else look awkward, but it suits him.

“Is there something on Niall’s face or do you just have a staring problem?” Waliyha says – looking disgruntled.

“Don’t you have boogers to pick, Waliyha?” Zayn says – smiling sarcastically at his nine year old sister.

Waliyha pouts a little and crosses her arms, “You can be friends with me, Neal -”

“It’s Niall,” Zayn interjects.

“Rude, don’t butt in,” Waliyha sticks out an open hand at Zayn. Zayn notices that Niall is trying his best to not laugh, “You can hang out with me, Neal, if you think my brother is mean.”

“How about later?” Niall says looking down at her, “After I give him his homework,” Zayn can’t help but to smile at Niall who is kind enough to bring him his homework, and patient enough to deal with Waliyha.

“Okay,” Waliyha says as she sprints down the hall, “I’ll be waiting!”

Niall doesn’t wait for Zayn’s invitation; he goes into his room and plops down on his bed as he looks around. Zayn’s mind goes on overdrive because there is a boy, a cute boy, a Niall-shaped boy in his room. And he has posters of comic book heroes and bands on his wall, and art, lots of his ridiculous art projects on the walls as well. Suddenly, he’s well aware of how completely vulnerable he is in his own room.

“So this is the lair of Zayn,” Niall says contemplatively, “I expected a lot more black, and lots more leather jackets.”

“Very funny,” Zayn says with a smile.

“I like it you know,” Niall says, sitting up on Zayn’s unmade bed which Zayn is glaringly aware of right now, “You have this whole dark and broody thing when your room is obviously artistic and nerdy. I especially like that one,” Niall points to the giant ZAP! that Zayn had graffitied on a piece of butcher paper to look like comic book letters. He had been especially proud of that one and hung it right above his bed.

“Should I take offense to that?” Zayn says after a smile.

“I like that too,” Niall says, “The way your tongue does that thing with your teeth when you smile.”

Zayn immediately avoids Niall’s eyes. He notices how quickly his cheeks grow red, and it’s not a good feeling. He’s not supposed to feel these types of feelings towards a boy, especially the minister’s boy. He’s not going down this road again, but he likes Niall. He likes the way Niall easily sits on his bed and distractingly brushes his hand through his messy blond hair. He likes this boy way too much with his easy words and clunky teasing.

“Does that even work on girls?” Zayn asks as he walks towards his desk and sneakily hides away his sketchpad.

“The more important question is,” Niall waggles his eyebrows as he digs through his backpack, “Does it work on you?”

“Okay, you need to stop that,” Zayn quips, “I don’t appreciate you flirting with me in my own room.”

Niall gasps, “I got Zayn to say more than six words to me! It is a momentous day at last!”

“Don’t you have something for me?” Zayn says – ignoring the little flutter in his chest. He likes this banter; he can get used to this. Niall smiles at him and pats the space next to him on Zayn’s bed.

Zayn hesitantly looks at him and sits down. He’s so close to Niall that his hands start to sweat. He almost rolls his eyes at himself for being such a girl. He catches himself immediately and stiffens, scooting a little bit away from Niall.

“Your mum says I’m the only one allowed to visit you,” Niall says as he gives Zayn his homework. Zayn’s heart lurches a little as Niall’s eyes fall on his, “She also says you’re on lockdown, but I begged her.”

“Begged her?” Zayn inquires.

“For you to go to the Harvest Festival with me next week,” Zayn had forgotten all about annual fairs, and he can barely even remember the last one he went to, but he was sure he went with Max. He was sure that Max and him probably enjoyed the carnival games and pulling pranks on the people in his town. It just seemed so far away, maybe even a different Zayn. A Zayn that didn’t kissed boys and had Max as a best friend who caused a little bit more trouble than necessary, “Only with me though, Zayn, she thinks I’m a good influence on you.”

Zayn scoffs.

“Is that a yes?” Niall’s eyes light up, turning them into an impossible blue. Zayn can’t help but smile at this boy in front of him, and all Zayn wants to do is pinch Niall’s cheeks or touch his lips or feel the way those braces might feel against his teeth. Zayn’s sure he’s red again, but all he can do is nod as he tries not to think of holy water or drowning, “I’ll take that as a yes!”

Niall leaves soon after, promises that he’ll come back tomorrow with homework. Zayn sighs and sprawls out on his bed sighing once more. He knows that whatever he feels for Niall, it’s hitting him. That boy is too nice, too patient, too smiley for his own damn good. How can a boy like Niall want Zayn’s company? Zayn has been nothing but rude and stand-offish with him, and yet, Niall still wants to be Zayn’s friend.

He’s suddenly reminded that Niall is the minister’s son, and if that’s not good enough reason to not lust after the boy, he should be aware that Niall’s dad or his mother put Niall up to this. For all Zayn could know, Niall could just be really good at pretending to be his friend. Being friends with the local charity case will probably give Niall an express ticket to heaven no doubt.

Zayn just really hopes that Niall isn’t lying. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a light chapter to contrast the dark one. IDK? I really want everyone to like Niall as much as Zayn likes Niall? So maybe this will help.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zayn finally comes out to someone. :O And if you're still reading after 5 chapters, I commend you. Thank you for all the comments and kudos so far. :) I'm almost done with writing this whole thing, and it feels so good!

_“Do you know why you are here, Zayn?” Minister Abbot says through gritted teeth as he places a firm hand on Zayn’s shoulder._

_Zayn flinches a little underneath his touch, and it just makes the Minister tighten his grip on him. Zayn wants to scream; he wants to run away. He’s scared and he wants to cry, but he’s going to be okay. He thinks of Harry. He thinks of how Harry will be waiting for him, and even though it’s bad now, it’ll be good when he talks to Harry again._

_“I asked you a question, Zayn,” he hisses. It sends a shiver down Zayn’s spine._

_Zayn whimpers, “I, I have sinned, Minister Abbot.”_

_“That is right, Zayn, the ugliest sin. You are filled with ugliness and wrongness, and you need to cured. You need to be fixed, and God will fix you. God fixes all of his children; He fixes them and molds them into His image, Zayn.”_

_Zayn let those words sink in, slowly. Those words are repeated in his head, and it feels like a leaky faucet that can never be fixed._

_“Do you hear me, Zayn?”_

_“Yes, Minister Abbot.”_

_“Good, we are going to fix the ugliness inside of you.” Minister Abbot’s hand breezes against his neck. Zayn visibly gulps at the bowl of holy water in front of him._

_He doesn’t know if the screaming is inside his head, but he knows his lungs are on fire._

_*_

“Zayn! Wake up!” He startles awake, drenched in cold sweat. The worst part is Niall’s expression as he stares down at Zayn; his hands are hard pressed on Zayn’s shoulders. His blue eyes wide with terror. Zayn jerks away from Niall’s hands and curls up against his bedframe. He tucks his knees close to him and refuses to look at Niall.

He’s still shaking when he gasps out, “Ni-Niall? Niall, what,” Zayn tries to make out coherent sounds, but he can still feel the water in his lungs, the lightness in his head. He’s almost certain that he’s crying, but he’s shaking so bad that he can’t make out anything, “I can’t breathe,” is all that Zayn manages to say through silent sobs, “I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe.” His heart feels heavy. It aches and pounds in his ribcage. He brings his hand to his chest and holds it there tightly. He knows Niall’s in front of him, but he can’t make out any images. Everything’s out of focus, and he wants so badly to focus on anything, but he’s heaving and panting and crying, and he wants it to stop, but nothing stops, the ringing in his ears, the pounding in his chest, it’s all too much.

“I think,” he doesn’t want to say it, but he knows it. It’s been there, looming over him like dark clouds, he’s so tired of it, and he wants someone to know, he wants anyone to know, even though Niall might turn away from him like everyone else did. It hangs over him like a knife waiting to be cut; it weighs down on him, making his shoulders heavy, “I think I’m gay,” he lets out and it’s cathartic and painful and uplifting and heavy all at the same time.

Niall moves closer and Zayn doesn’t know what to do. He inches away from Niall, but there’s no room to go anywhere. He’s vulnerable, and he hates it. He doesn’t want Niall to see this; he doesn’t want anyone to see this.

Niall’s hands are on his face and he flinches at the touch. It’s callous, but warm as Niall’s fingers touches the fringes of Zayn’s hair. And through the haze of Zayn’s vision, he focuses on Niall’s eyes – the bluest he has ever seen, a kind of blue that grounds him, a kind of blue that transcends metaphors of oceans and clear skies, a kind of blue that feels warm like the sun, but serene like the sea.

“It’s okay, Zayn,” his voice feels like soft velvet. Zayn closes his eyes, and he can feel Niall’s arms wrap around him.  He tenses up a little bit, but Niall’s arms are tight and he smells like barley, cologne, a sense of familiarity and something distinctly Niall that makes Zayn’s head dizzy and level off at the same time. It’s a different kind of tight grip; it’s warm and inviting, “It’s okay.”

And that’s all that Zayn needs to hear when he cries softly into Niall’s arms. He lets out angry sobs. His eyes well up and Zayn doesn’t know how long he cries for, but all he can hear through his sobs are a litany of “It’s okay” and “I’m here” from Niall and that’s all that matters for right now.

He doesn’t know how long he stays in Niall’s arms, but he knows that his legs are getting numb, and Niall has fidgeted a few times, probably adjusting himself to find a more comfortable position. Zayn thinks this is awkward, but he doesn’t want to let go, but he also knows that if his legs feel numb, then Niall’s legs are probably numb as well.

“So,” Niall says reluctantly, not wanting to break the mood, “I’m a little bit hungry.” Zayn lets out a chuckle and disentangles himself from Niall.

He looks up at Niall and wipes at his redden eyes; he doesn’t know where to go from here. He doesn’t even know where to start with Niall. He actually just never wants to acknowledge what happens again, but he just sits there awkwardly.

“Uhh,” Zayn starts, not knowing where to start or how to begin or even what to say.

“Okay,” Niall stands up, “There’s two ways to go about this. And I’ll give you the two options since you’re ever so eloquent as always: one,” Niall starts as he sticks up his index finger, “we can talk about this and what just happened now or two,” he raises and waggles his middle finger next, “we can ignore that this happened and you can tell me at another time.”

Niall is literally a Godsend, and he wonders how a person can be so patient, and understanding, and handsome. He gives Niall a smile, “Thanks,” is all he manages to say, but he wants to tell Niall more; he wants to tell Niall everything, and he figures he will someday, eventually.

“No problem, you can pay me back in food,” and before Zayn can say anything else, Niall is already stumbling towards the door as if nothing had happened.

~

They fall in a bit of a routine from then on, Niall comes over, and Zayn’s mother gives him a sandwich every time. Niall plops down on Zayn’s bed, explains to him what happens that day with all smiles and squinty eyes. Zayn finds himself more relaxed with Niall, a sort of feeling he had with Harry, except he didn’t have these stupid butterflies in his stomach.  They never talk about what happened that day, and it’s a good thing, because Zayn thinks that he can’t handle reliving that, or anything that happened in that camp.

By Friday, Zayn’s a little bit sad that it’s his last day of suspension because it means that when Monday comes, Niall will no longer have any excuses to come over to Zayn’s house to give him his homework.

Niall’s sitting on Zayn’s bed with a sandwich in one mouth and a pencil in the other working on his homework. Zayn’s gotten used to how Niall’s eyebrows would furrow when he’s deep in thought about something he’s writing. Niall looks up at Zayn and smiles, “So we’re still on for the Harvest Festival next week?”

“Only if it’s a date,” Zayn says jokingly without even thinking. He immediately winces at himself when the words leave his mouth. He’s not suppose to say these things; they taught him better, but he just feels comfortable around Niall, to joke with him, to say these things.

“It’s a date if you win me a stuffed animal,” Niall says, “Or I can win you one, Z, I’m pretty good at those things.”

Zayn’s grateful that Niall’s still light-hearted about it, he thinks back to the camp, and he doesn’t want to do anything to make his mother send him back there, “Is that a challenge?”

“It’s not a challenge if I already know I can win,” Niall chides.

“You’re ridiculous, you know that?” Zayn says, he’s grinning like an idiot again because he never thought he could feel so comfortable with a guy again, and he catches himself right in the middle. He shouldn’t feel this comfortable with Niall, he could possibly be falling for Niall, and he knows that’s a bad idea.

“So I’ve heard,” Niall waggles his eyebrows, “Speaking of ridiculous, I can’t believe we’re starting swimming in P.E. next week. What in the heck is wrong with this town? Who the heck has their swimming unit in the middle of fall? That should be illegal!”

“I can’t swim,” Zayn confesses. He’s scared that he might do something stupid – like drown in front of his peers. Great, he thinks, now he’ll be the freak who can’t swim. This can just be another thing his peers can add to their list of ammunition against Zayn.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I can’t swim,” Zayn reiterates. Niall bursts out laughing, and Zayn throws a pencil at him, “It’s not funny.”

“You’re 16! How can you not know how to swim?”

“I never learned! Doniya promised to teach me, but she never did,” Zayn says downtrodden.

“Have no fear, Z, I will teach you!” Niall proclaims as he puts his fists to his hips like a superhero, “By teaching you, I get to see you shirtless, you know?” He gets up and nudges Zayn on his side.

Zayn blushes a little (okay, he blushes a lot), doesn’t know what to do with himself, so he pushes Niall a little and they fall in a fit of giggles.

Breaking the mood, he hears his mother downstairs yelling for him to help with the groceries, he runs down the stairs to see Waliyha and Doniya run out the car.

Doniya smiles at him, “I can’t wait for you to see what I got planned for when we come back from school!” She punches him lightly on the shoulder as she passes him in the hallway.

“I can’t wait,” Zayn chides sarcastically, “Your last plan got us suspended.”

She looks over her shoulders and winking, “You mean the last plan got you a week’s worth of Niall?” Zayn knows by now that whatever his sister is planning is bad news – just bad news.

By the time he’s finished with the groceries and walking upstairs again, he can hear Niall and Waliyha engrossed in conversation.

“I like that one best,” Waliyha says pointedly at Niall in Zayn’s room.

“Waliyha,” Zayn says, “What did I say about you being in my room?”

“Sorry, bossy-pants, I was just showing Niall your drawings.”

“My,” Zayn’s eyes widen in the doorway as he sees Waliyha and Niall peering down on his sketchpad, his private sketchpad. His sketchpad that no one is allowed to see because he draws things in there, things like Niall, over and over again. He doesn’t know where to begin, but he really think he can throw his sister out the window right now, “My what?”

“Your sketchpad,” Waliyha turns to him and say, “You know, the one where you draw Niall repeatedly.”

“Yeah, Zayn,” Niall sticks out his tongue as Zayn’s ears start to warm up, “the one where you draw me repeatedly. I like this one the most,” He raises up the picture that Zayn had sketch of Niall in profile, “It makes me look better than I actually do.” It’s Niall with his frazzle hair and beaming eyes as he sits on Zayn’s bed with his tanktop and blue jeans.

“Waliyha, get out of my room,” he hisses, “Before I defenestrate you.”

“Ugh, I don’t even know what that word means!” Waliyha exclaims as she walks pass him. She pointedly sticks her tongue out at him and he does the same.

“So, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re stalking me or obsessing over me,” Niall starts to waggle his eyebrows.

Zayn rolls his eyes, “None of those things. Those aren’t even you,” Zayn says unconvincingly.

“Well, whoever you drew, he’s pretty handsome, and you’re pretty good, and I’m going to take it,” Niall says and Zayn just shrugs at him fondly, “I’m going to hang it on my wall and tell my dad it’s a really good drawing of some dude that bears a striking resemblance to me. Maybe throw a fit and say that he’s been hiding a twin brother from me.”

“You’re ridiculous,” And somehow, Zayn knows he’s in deeper shit than he was before. He’s not suppose to feel this way. It’s not suppose to be this easy. Niall is not suppose to make Zayn want to hold hands and giggle and look at him longingly. Zayn knows that in his heart of hearts that it’s wrong, but it’s so easy.


	7. Chapter 7

“We’ve missed you yesterday,” Niall mentions as he’s chewing what seems like his breakfast, a bagel filled with cream cheese. Clearly, this boy has no manners. Zayn frowns at this as they both sit next to each other in their first class. Zayn takes a moment to absorb Niall in for a moment; he’ll never get used to Niall’s blue eyes or the way his braces fit so well to his face. Zayn also notices a rainbow bracelet on Niall’s arm, and he means to ask Niall, but Niall’s waiting for an answer as to why Zayn missed church yesterday.

“I was sick,” Zayn lies.

“Oh?” Niall raises his eyebrows, “Is this an excuse to bail out on me on Friday? You promised me challenges, Zayn, and stuffed animals.”

“I promise you will lose,” Niall perks up, and in turn, Zayn does too. Zayn doesn’t have the heart to tell Niall that he woke up on Sunday drenched in sweat and crying again – having one of his episodes except this time, there was no Niall to comfort him, which made him even more frustrated. He shouldn’t rely on Niall like he does; he shouldn’t expect Niall to be there when he’s having a panic attack, but he wants Niall there, maybe all the time which is the most conflicting part.

He had locked himself in the bathroom that Sunday morning pretending to make retching noises so his family can go to church without him. He didn’t feel like going to a place that condemned him for who he was, and if he knew better, he would avoid Niall altogether to avoid the mixture of feelings in his stomach, like acid that keeps turning.

“You also promised me food, and lots of it,” Niall leans in and Zayn makes a funny face at the smell of garlic on his bagel.

“Geez, Niall, that bagel smells rank.”

“Don’t judge,” Niall says quickly, breathing on Zayn purposely, “You obviously have bad taste.”

“Mr. Horan, are you ready or shall I wait for you to harass Mr. Malik some more?” Mr. Tomlinson interjects, and Niall sinks back into his seat, “I’ll take that as a sign of readiness,” Mr. Tomlinson rolls up his sleeves, and Zayn notices the same rainbow wristband on his left hand that Niall has which makes Zayn even more curious.

Zayn notices that Niall immediately nods in and out of sleep right when Mr. Tomlinson starts lecturing. Zayn can’t help but giggle at the sight even though he’s trying his hardest to pay attention to the introduction of the new book they are all reading.

When the period’s almost over, Mr. Tomlinson throws a paper ball straight at Niall’s head, “Mr. Horan, you might want to pay attention to this part. Our next book will have heaps of imagery and symbolism in it, so I want a three page paper of symbolism and writing your own symbolism on my desk on Friday,” he says as he passes out the rubric. The class collectively groans, but Zayn’s looking forward to this assignment. He actually looks forward to all the English assignments because he thrives on two subjects – English and Art.

Mr. Tomlinson stops in front of Zayn’s desk and tells him, “If you need an extension, let me know, Zayn,” he says softly and his eyes are a soft kind of blue underneath his hair. Zayn just nods, he doesn’t want to let Mr. Tomlinson down.

“How come he gets an extension, Mr. Tommo!” Niall raises his hand and gapes at the both of them.

“Maybe because he doesn’t call me that hideous name, and he doesn’t fall asleep in class, Mr. Horan.”  Zayn can’t help but to chuckle as the whole class marches out of the room.

He sees his sister, also with a rainbow bracelet, “So what’s up with the rainbow bracelets everyone’s sporting?” He walks with his sister to his second class of the day.

“Surprise!” She shouts, taking one out of her pocket, “It’s to show unity, you know, and how we all support you for being gay.”

“ _What?_ ” He hisses at Doniya. In a span of a few months, he’s pretty sure his heart has been doing so many weird heart palpitations that he won’t be surprised if he dies early.

“The people who are wearing it,” Doniya states, “are people who support you – like Mr. Tomlinson and Niall, and me,” she smiles as she wiggles her bracelet, feeling proud of herself.

“This is just fucking great, Doniya,” he mutters and walks faster so he can avoid her altogether. How can his sister do this to him? Out him to the whole school again? Label himself constantly as the faggot of the school? God, why can’t he just catch a break? He just wants to blend in and now everyone who sees the rainbow wristband will know exactly what it’s for, who it’s for. He hears his sister shout his name in the hallway, but he just keeps walking, too angry to even look back.

~

He stands at the lunch line when Niall comes up to him. It takes all of his willpower to not snap at Niall because he knows what Niall is going to say, “Your sister tells me to tell you that she’s sorry, but you’re also being a bitch,” he reads from his phone, “Those were her words, not mine!” He says as he reaches for two burritos.

“Well, you can tell her to get off her high horse,” Niall huffs a little, but texts back to Doniya. Zayn can spot her from across the cafeteria, and it takes all his courage to even be in this cafeteria right now, so it’s hard, okay? One of the sole reasons he’s even here is that Niall had forcibly dragged him in here and offered to sit with him at lunch for forever – whatever that means.

Niall gets a text back, “She says, ‘I’m just trying to help, and for a boy, you sure are on your period a lot,’” and Niall laughs a little at that until Zayn glares at him, “You’re right, Zayn, that’s not funny at all, and a little sexist.”

“Tell her,” Zayn starts, but Niall just throws the phone at him.

“You’re interrupting me from my food time here, Zayn!” Niall whines, “You tell her yourself!” Zayn can’t help but to laugh at Niall’s desperation. He decides to pay for his lunch and walk up to Doniya.

Doniya looks surprised, but she smiles at her brother and makes room for both Niall and him at her table with girls that smile too widely at Niall while trying to avoid eye contact with Zayn.

“Can we talk in private?” Zayn asks, looking around at Doniya’s friends. They roll their eyes, but leave anyway.

“Look, Doniya, I know you’re trying to help, and I love you a lot,” Zayn says as he dips a chicken nugget in ketchup, “But you see, at the end of the day, like, you can take the rainbow wristband off, but I can’t. And you basically are drawing attention to me, and I don’t want that. I don’t even know if I am, you know, yet.”

“Oh,” she says, understanding now. Niall’s nodding as he stuffs a burrito in his mouth. Zayn tries his hardest to not look at Niall as he’s stuffing a phallic shaped object in his mouth and making weird noises, “Here I thought it just didn’t match with your leather jackets or something.”

“Very funny,” Zayn says sarcastically.

“But you know, Zen,” Zayn is still fascinated by how Niall can speak with his mouth full, “We’re all rooting for you, that’s why I’m wearing the bracelet.”

“The real goal is to get Max to wear the bracelet,” Doniya says as she looks at Max from across the room. The bruises on his face healing, but Zayn can still make out the hints of where he punched Max.

“Good luck with that,” Zayn scoffs.

“He’s not that bad, Malik siblings,” Niall comments. Niall’s interjection makes Zayn smile and admire Niall’s constant optimism, and he wonders if that’s the way Niall’s raised or if it just the way he is – resilient and optimistic, “He’s gone through some stuff, you know?”

“Yeah, well, Zayn’s gone to gay camp and he’s not lashing out at people,” Doniya comments, and Zayn’s eyes widen as Niall stops in the middle of his burrito, “Wait, Niall, didn’t, know, that?” Zayn’s trying his hardest to not make eye contact with his sister or Niall. His ears are burning as he focuses on his chicken nuggets as if it the nuggets will die if he doesn’t look at them. If Niall was smart enough, he’d put two and two together. He’d connect why Zayn was screaming to what had happened at that camp, but Niall couldn’t possibly know, right? Niall couldn’t possibly know what goes on at those camps? Niall couldn’t possibly understand that the same religion that Niall came from, the one that talks about love and forgiveness, could cause Zayn to have such self-hatred, right?

“I didn’t know,” Doniya apologizes a second later, not knowing what else to say.

“It’s fine,” is all that Zayn manages to say without looking at them.

~

He watches Niall laugh as the sun’s rays hit his pale skin as he walks out of the boys locker room with nothing but swimming trunks on. Zayn never knew what the Devil was until he realized that they had invented P.E. after his lunch period, and he knew that the same Devil made it so that Niall looked nice in his swimming trunks whereas he looked scrawny and wirey in his; he crosses his arms over his bare chest, feeling self-conscious about the way he looks like he’s starving and his legs are too skinny and how his knees are too jagged.

Since when did he become so self-conscious?

 Zayn just wants to hide in the locker room, but there’s Niall with his golden hair coming up to him and smiling, and it makes it a little bit okay.

“Hey there, stud,” Niall says as he winks at Zayn, sitting down next to him by the pool.

“Very funny,” Zayn says, trying his hardest to not look at a half-naked Niall, keeping his eyes on Niall’s eyes. His mouth is dry, and all he wants to do is get in the water if it means that he doesn’t have to look at himself, all vulnerable in front of Niall.

Niall catches how Zayn falls silent next to him, and he touches Zayn’s shoulder – the slight contact makes Zayn perk up, “Hey, don’t worry, I got you.” And before Zayn knows it, Niall twists Zayn’s nipple and runs away. He’s howling and laughing, and Zayn chases after him.

He runs straight into the P.E. teacher who promptly tells him that everyone should be in the pool by the now. He’s a little hesitant, and he almost calls Niall a little shit as he jumps into the deep side with all his other friends.

Zayn whispers to his P.E. teacher, “Ms. Robinson, I don’t know how to swim,” he has his arms across his chest again.

“We learn by doing, Malik, now get in the water,” she smiles at him fondly and nudges him towards the water, “Those of you who do know how to swim, please swim to the shallow side of the pool. Follow me, Malik.”

He follows her to the shallow side of the pool, and she gestures for him to get inside the water. It’s cold, but he likes it so far. He gets into the pool to a smiling Niall – his hair already on his forehead from the lap he just swam.

Zayn tries his best to smile, but he’s a little afraid of what will happen if he put his head underwater. He’s not afraid of water; he takes showers for God sakes, but he’s also not very fond of the idea of drowning. He tries his best to repress the idea of holy water and campgrounds from his mind. He can’t freak out right now, in front of all these people, he can’t freak out that water reminds him of drowning.

“Okay, baby steps,” Ms. Robinson announces to everyone in the pool, “What we’re going to do first is to dip your head under the water, get a feel of what it’s like. Malik, it’s unfortunate that you have to get your hair wet,” she jests.

The class laughs and he chuckles as well. The class starts dipping their head under water, and Zayn’s a little bit afraid. He’s shaking, but he doesn’t know if it’s because he’s scared or if the water’s a little bit too cold.

Niall catches the concern in his eye, “Hey, I’ll go down with you, okay?” And in the water, he can feel Niall’s hand holding his own, and for a minute, he twitches away, but he likes the way Niall’s hand feels in his – concealed and soft underneath the water, “Ready? 3, 2, 1.”

They are both under water and he can see Niall’s eyes on him as he smiles, which is no easy feat as Zayn learns. Niall giggles a little and pokes Zayn’s cheeks which causes Zayn to let out a laugh and he’s inhaling water.

“That wasn’t so bad, right?” Niall’s blond hair is stuck to his forehead, and Zayn smiles at the crinkle next to Niall’s eyes, “I can tell it wasn’t that bad from the way you smile with your tongue sticking to your teeth,” and he wonders how Niall sees Zayn. He wonders if Niall sees Zayn the way that Zayn sees Niall – with a sort of fascination, happiness, and giddiness.

“No, I guess it wasn’t,” And Zayn barely notices that he’s holding Niall’s hand with a tight grip, so much that he doesn’t know if anyone knows how close Niall and Zayn are right now next to each other in the water. He doesn’t notice the stares or the weird looks, all he notices is how Niall makes him safe, and he wonders if Niall still smells like barley and safety with all the bleach in the water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thanksgiving! :)


	8. Chapter 8

_Dear Zayn,_

_Hi! I know its been awhile since weve talked, and I missed you :)))). Heres my number before I forget to give it to you, what a twat of me, right? To not think about how we couldve given our numbers instead of this address. Its been super busy with school and I finally got time to write to you._

_How is everything? I hope you are fine and that I wish you could come visit me, it would be a blast, I could take you to concerts and you can meet my friends. I know they will like you because I like you._

_I still didnt tell my mum yet, but its not that big of a deal, Im kinda seeing this girl right now, so it makes it easier for her heart, but who knows, in the future, I might end up dating a fit guy and then it will be the same thing over again._

_Anyway, im rambling, but I think I figured something out, Zayn, I think I finally did, and I hope you did too. Just driving back from that camp, it made me realize something. It made me realize that I deserve to be happy too, you know? Like, I dont know, it made me realize that if my religion doesnt think I can be happy because of who I choose to fall in love with, then that’s not a very good religion, you know? And Ive talked to other people in my religion as well, they think the same thing. Its the people, Zayn, not the religion, I just wanted you to know that. I deserve to be happy. We both deserve to be happy._

_Okay, I gotta go, text me when you get my number, okay? I miss you, just imagine me hugging you right now._

_Love,_

_Harry_

It’s half past midnight, and he hears his phone buzzing. He groans a little bit and looks at the text from a number he remembers. He swears he’s dreaming as he opens the text from Max.

**_Are you home? I’ve been throwing rocks at your window for 15 minutes now._ **

He’s surely dreaming, but he looks out his window anyway, and there’s Max looking up at him in the dark. Zayn hisses at the cold weather a little and grabs a sweater to throw over him. He gestures for Max to come up, and Max already knows this routine, they’ve done it several times before.

Max would throw rocks at Zayn’s window, climb up to Zayn’s room and sleep there. This would happen on several different occasions, it could be that they just wanted to hang out on Friday nights past their curfew, watching something on Zayn’s laptop, or it could be because Max’s father could’ve gotten too drunk and did awful things to Max.

Those were the nights that Zayn did not look forward to. Those nights would be filled with silence and Zayn would just open up his laptop trying his best to make Max smile because that’s what friends do, and they weren’t capable of having emotional talks about what went on at Max’s home.

Now Zayn climbs out of his window to sit on his awning with Max. As Max climbs up, Zayn sees the fresh bruises on Max’s face, and he knows that this is the kind of visits that he dreaded the most when Max was still his friend. He winces for Max a little, wants to apologize for punching Max even though he deserved it a little. But Max looks so young and not malicious underneath the pale moon light, and Zayn wonders how things got so out of hand.

Zayn tries his best to not start out with, “What are you doing here?” He waits for Max to start, and there’s a long pause of silence between them. Max tries his best to touch at the parts of his face that weren’t bruised.  He just wants to tell Max that it’ll be okay, that somehow, he forgives Max for all that he’s done even though Max is still a little shithead with his bald head and his snarky face.

They sit that way in silence for a while, not looking at each other, keeping a distance from each other.

“Do you want to come in?” Zayn finally says. Zayn might be a bad person most of the time, but he’s not going to turn away his friend, or his used to be friend in a time of need. Niall wouldn’t do it, so he shouldn’t either.

“No,” Max manages to say, “Let’s just sit out here for a while.”

Zayn looks at him and nods. He’s had a good day, he had receive the letter from Harry today, and he thinks it’ll be okay if Max doesn’t want to be his friend anymore. Maybe Max came here for closure finally, and Zayn thinks he’ll be okay with that.

“I’ve been a shit friend,” Max lets out.

Zayn scoffs at that, “Yeah?”

“Yeah, I have, Z.” It’s been a while since he heard that nickname from anyone, especially from Max. He does miss Max a lot, “And I still don’t get it, man, I still get the skeevies when I think of us in your room late at night watching movies.”

Zayn lets out a dry laugh, and decides to walk back into his room when Max grabs ahold of his arm, “Wait, I mean, let me try to explain.”

There’s two kinds of emotions boiling up in Zayn right now, one says he should just shove Max off the awning and go back to sleep and the other really wants to hear what Max has to say.

“You were my best friend, man,” Max starts out. Zayn tries not to feel hurt about the usage of the past tense, “And one day, it’s like I didn’t even know you anymore. But then, I thought, is he really a different Zayn, you know? Is he a different Zayn from all those times you let me into your room late at night because of my jackass dad? Are you different from all those times we pranked your sisters or smoked cigarettes or put bandaids on my face?”

“Max,” Zayn says, feeling a little uncomfortable with this little speech that Max has going.

“No, Z,” Max interrupts, “Let me finish. I don’t know what to do, man. Every time my dad would beat the shit out of me, I thought, this would be better afterwards, because then I’d come running to your house and we’d watch shit movies in your bedroom, but now, I don’t got that, Z. I don’t got my best friend anymore because he’s a fa-,” Max catches himself, “Because he’s gay. But I think I miss that though, I miss going to your house and watching shit movies and talking about fit girls.  This doesn’t make up the shit I did to you, and I would understand if you didn’t forgive me. I don’t know if I would forgive myself if I was you.”

“You didn’t even say sorry,” Zayn knows he’s petty right now, but he would really like to hear it. He would really like to hear Max say that he’s sorry, and being sorry is not enough, but it’s a start, Zayn thinks.

“I’m sorry, Z,” Max says, his eyes pleading and welling up with tears. Zayn thinks back to a time when Max has cried, but he doesn’t remember a time at all, “I’m fucked up and I’m broken as hell, and I just want you to know that I’m sorry, and it’s okay if you don’t forgive me, shit.”

There’s a pause. Zayn wants to forgive Max, but he doesn’t know how to yet – this whole forgiveness thing is big in his religion, but he doesn’t know how to. He doesn’t even want to forgive Max based on his religion; he just wants to forgive Max because he misses him. He just misses him a lot and Max deserves forgiveness too, maybe, at least, he thinks so, “Do you want to come in?”

Max raises his eyebrows, “Don’t worry, Max, you’re not my type.”

The comment makes Max laugh a little, “I know, Z, you’ve got your thirsty ass eyes on that Niall kid.”

“What?”

“Don’t act dumb, Z, I was, am your best friend, we don’t even gotta talk to know that you like the kid. I like him too, not like that, but he’s a good guy.” Max says as he follows Zayn through his window.

Zayn goes to the bathroom to get the first aid kit as Max sits on his bed. He looks so young; Zayn had almost forgotten how much he missed Max even though he was such a shithead. Zayn sat down next to him, and mended his cuts and bruises like he used to – with shaky hands and trying to make jokes. He doesn’t know if this is a start, a new beginning, or even an end.

Maybe things aren’t that complicated after all if Max is here right now, in his room, on a mutual understanding that they’re both fucked up, just in different ways. And if Max could accept Zayn for all his jaggedness and if Zayn could accept Max for all his brokenness, then maybe, just maybe, the world can learn to understand this concept as well.

~

It’s Friday, and Zayn can barely contain his excitement as he gets into his mother’s car with Doniya after school. Everyone seems to be in a good mood, even Zayn, which is a big deal. Zayn’s fidgeting in his seat and checking his text messages from Harry and Niall. Harry and him have been texting each other frequently, and just that brings him in a better mood. And just today, Max even nodded at him in the hallway. Granted he didn’t hang out with Zayn like they used to, but Zayn supposes that it’s all about baby steps. At least he’s not pushing Zayn into lockers and lashing out anymore. He wonders if someone should psychoanalyze Max. He wonders how one day, he can just be pushing Zayn into lockers and the next, he wants to apologize.

Zayn’ll just wrack it up to teenage hormones, and shrugs as he types a message to Harry:

**_Going to a festival with Niall  :D xx_ **

“So I decided that we should all go to the Harvest Festival together,” his mother says, looking at Zayn in the backseat as Doniya sits in the front.

Doniya forcibly groans, “Can’t, mum, I volunteered at the kissing booth, so I have to be there early.”

“Now, Doniya,” Zayn’s mother starts.

“Mom, I know,” and Zayn can imagine the eye roll Doniya is giving right now, “Only kisses on the cheek, it’s not very Jesus-y to kiss on the mouth, or whatever.”

Her mother just makes a little sound with her tongue at the way Doniya uses Jesus’ name like that, but she lets it go.

**U told me several times mate im rolling my eyes as we speak**

“What about you, Zayn?”

Doniya answers for him, “Zayn’s going with Niall, they’ve been playing this for a long time, mum.”

His mother gives him a smile that reaches her eyes, “Ah, that’s so great to hear! Niall is a very good kid, I am glad he’s being a good influence on you. I’m telling you, dear, it was the Lord’s plan for Niall to have moved here when he did with his family.” If only his mother knew exactly what he feels for Niall, she wouldn’t be smiling so big he thinks.

He just smiles back at her and leaves it at that. Maybe he doesn’t have to tell her yet, but he does wonder why Niall’s parents moved here right when they did. Was it just because they needed a new minister? Surely, they wouldn’t have uprooted their life just to give a small town a new minister, right?

“Mum,” Zayn starts, tearing his eyes away from his phone, “Why _did_ the Horan family move here?”

“Hmm, I think the minister mentioned that Niall was having a rough time at school and they wanted a change of pace. I’m not quite sure though, maybe you can ask him yourself tonight, Zayn? He’s such a nice boy,” and Zayn wonders how can a person like Niall have a hard time at any school? Niall was extroverted, friendly, talented, and all these other things. The exact opposite of Zayn basically. His mother probably misheard or something.

Maybe Zayn will ask Niall tonight.

When they get home, Zayn tells his mother that he’s going to get ready for the festival and locks himself in his room. He’s nervous, and he wants to look extra nice for Niall so he picks different shirts and outfits even though Zayn’s sure that Niall doesn’t mind what he wears, he minds. He wants to impress Niall; he wants Niall to know that he’s not broody or angsty all the time. He wants Niall to understand that he’s also funny, and has a wicked wardrobe full of nice dress shirts and leather jackets. He receives a text from Niall in the midst of taking off a white shirt and deciding to put on a black collared shirt instead.

**Come over later? :D im excited, i hope theres lots of food there!!!**

Zayn smiles at the text; it makes his heart flutter a little, and he has weird feelings in his stomach.

**Okay, I’m excited too! See you in a bit, Niall :) xx**

He wants to be able to tell Niall how he feels. He wants to tell Niall that maybe it’s not love, but when Niall’s around, it makes him feel better, good about himself, makes him feel that he’s not wrong inside, and he likes that feeling.

Niall is so good to him, and so wonderful, and Zayn’s psyching himself out, but he hopes that Niall feels the same. Niall’s held his hand underwater, okay? So maybe it’s not that crazy that Niall might feel the same way as well.

Making his way to the restroom, he shouts for his sister, “Doniya, you’re still taking me to Niall’s house, right?” As he takes out hairwax and starts to do his hair, molding it into jagged spikes like he likes it.

“Yeah, let me know when you’re done looking at yourself in the mirror, little brother!” Zayn rolls his eyes as he looks at himself in the mirror, “I’ll be downstairs in the car when you’re ready.”

When he finishes up, he grabs his wallet and keys and kisses his mom goodbye. He thinks that, maybe, just maybe if Niall feels the same, then maybe he’ll have a conversation with his mother. Maybe not his father yet, but his mother, tell her that he thinks that no amount of holy water can change him. Maybe he doesn’t need changing? Because if he changes, then he wouldn’t have Niall. He knows that Niall’s a good thing, and maybe, Niall will have him as well.

There’s still the thought in the back of his mind that he doesn’t deserve Niall, and just that thought alone leaves him feeling like he wants to throw up, so he swallows hard as he gets into the car with Doniya. He’s going to be brave, he thinks as he fidgets in his seat.

“So,” Doniya’s eyes look like she knows as she backs out of their driveway, “Why are you fidgeting?”

“I’m not,” Zayn says curtly.

“Don’t lie to me, rude,” He can hear Waliyha saying that. He’s got to make sure that Waliyha stops hanging out with Doniya and picking up bad habits.

“I’m nervous is all,” Doniya positively giggles at this, and Zayn looks daggers at her, “It’s not funny.”

“Yes, it is,” Doniya says, “Why are you nervous? Is this a date? You got a date with a cute boy, Zayn? Is that it? You liiiiiike hiiiiiim?” Zayn is absolutely blushing in his seat right now.

He wonders if he should tell Doniya as well, and it’s not like she doesn’t know, but just saying it aloud is frightening. He’s only told Niall, and that was filled with tears and embarrassment.

He lets his sister tease him a little longer, “You like Niall, you like Niall,” she repeats.

“I’m gay,” Zayn says abruptly, and his sister goes quiet immediately. It feels a lot lighter this time than the first time he admitted it to Niall.

“No way! Oh my god! I didn’t know that! What ever will I do! This is just a tragic situation!” Doniya keeps her eyes on the road, but she’s holding her right hand to her mouth as if she’s actually shocked.

“You’re teasing me,” he huffs as he crosses his arms over his chest.

“Little brother,” Doniya says seriously, “I’ve known you were gay even before Liam.” He almost had forgotten about Liam at this point; he almost had forgotten why he was in such a mess. It was because of Liam, “I love you, regardless if you love a boy or a girl, I’m going to love you. I’m going to tease the shit out of you though, and no one can pick on you except for me, but I love you, you know that, right?”

Zayn’s tearing up a little, and he puts a hand on her leg, “I love you too,” he says. All he wants to do is hug her right now, but he doesn’t want to cause an accident.

“Okay, now that the cheesefest is over, when you have sex with Niall,” Zayn makes a stuttering noise at Doniya, “You have to tell me how big his dick is.”

“Doniya!” He groans.

“What,” Doniya says with a smile, “I always wondered if Irish lads had bigger penises.” Zayn is visibly groaning and blushing so hard right now that he thinks he’s on fire, “And did you see how he can stuff a burrito in his mouth, Zayn? The man’s destined to be gay.”

“Doniya, please!” She’s cackling at him now as his face still feels like he’s on fire, “I shouldn’t’ve told you.”

“Oh come on, it was a joke,” Doniya says, simmering down, “So, what happens now? Are you going to tell mum and dad?”

“I don’t know,” Zayn trails off, that’s why he wanted to tell Doniya in the first place. He wanted to ask her what he should do, “What do you think?”

She sighs a little, “To be honest with you, I don’t know. I know our parents love you, but God, you know? They really like God also.” She’s right. His parents are conservative, but to what point? Will they actually send him back to that camp again? He doesn’t want to go back there. This time, there will be no Harry to get him through. He doesn’t ever want to go back. He feels like he’s drowning again just thinking about it. It was evil and Zayn doesn’t think he can survive it a second time, “What about asking Niall’s dad to talk to them? He seems to understand.”

“Maybe,” he says, but he wants to hear it from them. He wants to tell his parents himself even though it might be painful and difficult, he wants to be able to tell them on his own time, when he thinks it’s right.

The car stops in front of Niall’s house, and Zayn smiles at his sister, wanting her to not worry about him, “If you want me to, I’ll be there, Zayn, when you do, I’ll always be there.” She smiles at him as he steps out of the car.

“Thanks,” he smiles. His thoughts are racing, and he’s trying to calm down. Whatever he plans to do, he wants to tell Niall how he feels first. He’s not going to wait for Niall to make any more moves. Niall has made enough advances, and if those weren’t actually advances, and if Niall rejects him, then he won’t have a reason to tell his parents until a later time, when he actually has a relationship to tell.

He knocks on the door, and suddenly he’s nervous again. Niall’s house is smaller than his, but it looks nice. He really hopes that Niall opens the door, and he should’ve texted him before he knocked. Zayn’s so stupid sometimes.

Niall’s father opens the door with a big smile – a smile that is inviting unlike the other ministers Zayn has seen before. It is a smile of warmth and love, and he can see Niall in his father’s smile, “Hello, Mr. Horan, is Niall home?” He asks even though he knows he is.

“Zayn! It’s so great to finally talk to you,” Niall’s father holds out his hand and it’s warm and tight, “We’ve heard so much about you and how you helped Niall in English. He can be quite lazy sometimes, I guess you’re influencing him well,” Zayn smiles at that and finds it funny because his mother would say that Niall was a good influence on him, not the other way around, “Come on in, Maura will probably want to meet you too.”

“I do!” As Zayn walks in, a nice blond woman steps out of the kitchen. She’s shorter than Niall is, but she has a smile that reminds Zayn of how warm Niall’s smile is, “My, aren’t you a handsome young man?” Zayn can hear the Irish accent in her voice, and it reminds him of Niall. Zayn can’t help but to smile at how lovely and wonderful Niall’s parents are, and he now knows why Niall is the way he is – loving and caring.

“Well, we won’t keep you,” Niall’s father says, “He’s probably sleeping upstairs, first room on the right, so you can go wake him up. We’ll see you at the festival later, Zayn.”

“You are welcome any time, sweetheart!” Niall’s mother says as she steps back into the kitchen. Zayn thinks he likes it here, and he will definitely be back.

Zayn walks up the stairs and admires all the baby pictures of Niall. There’s plenty, and there’s one of Niall naked as a baby and Zayn blushes a little. There’s also one of Niall in a little army suit, and Zayn is about to burst from the cuteness.

He walks into Niall’s room, but he doesn’t see Niall there. He just shrugs, thinking that Niall is probably in the bathroom. He takes the room in, it’s a little bit plainer than Zayn’s room, but there’s a mini fridge, and Zayn chuckles a little at that. There’s a Katy Perry poster on the wall (which makes Niall’s sexuality questionable), and a few footie jerseys hung up. He also has a bible next to his night stand.

He also sees the picture that Zayn drew of Niall thumbtacked to a wooden board on the wall. He smiles as his heart does a weird skip in his chest.

He sits down on Niall’s bed to wait for him, and takes the smell of Niall in. He takes out his phone to text Niall, but he hears a little whimper. It scares him a little, and he wonders where it’s coming from.

It almost sounds like Niall, and Zayn perks up his ears a little. It’s almost as if it’s coming from the closet across the room, and Zayn moves briskly towards it.

He opens the closet door, and he sees Niall in the closet. He’s never seen Niall like this before, he’s hunched up, with his knees to his chest, rocking back and forth. Even though the closet door is open and Zayn is looking at him, Niall doesn’t show any signs that he sees the closet door open. He just rocks back and forth, “Niall?”

Zayn gets down on his knees and puts a hand on Niall’s shoulder, not wanting to disturb the boy in front of him. Niall’s eyes are blown wide open and he keeps rocking back and forth, it scares Zayn a little to see Niall like this, to see him not acknowledging Zayn, and muttering something underneath his breath, “Niall? Niall? Niall!” Zayn almost shouts.

Niall finally seems like he snaps back to reality and he’s looking at Zayn now, “Zayn, you’re here.” He quavers, he stops rocking back and forth and looks at Zayn’s eyes, “You’re here, Zayn, you’re here, and the room is bigger. Door jammed. The room is bigger now. I couldn’t breathe.”

“Niall?” Zayn questions, and it finally clicks in Zayn’s head, “You’re claustrophobic?”

Niall jumps and wraps his arms around Zayn. The sudden impact makes Zayn fall back and out of the closet. Niall is taking in deep breaths, almost as if sighing in relief.

“Jesus,” Zayn gasps, “How long were you in there?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know. I was so scared. I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t scream, thank you, thank you, thank you,” Niall says as he buries his face on the crook of Zayn’s neck. Zayn’s not sure if Niall notices, but they are lying on Niall’s floor with Niall on top of him. Zayn can feel his pants tighten from the warmth of Niall’s skin and the close proximity.

“Niall, you’re,” Zayn says under him, “You’re on top of me.”

Niall apologizes and chuckles a little, and Zayn thinks Niall is blushing a little as he gets up and sits on his bed.

“Can you, can you give me a minute?” Zayn can see Niall still shaking a little, “Sit next to me?” He sits down next to Niall on his bed, close enough so that their shoulders are touching. Zayn doesn’t know what to do, so he just sits there awkwardly, looking at the wall instead of Niall.

Niall sighs a little, and Zayn can see the slow movement of Niall’s hand. He can feel Niall’s fingers as it traces Zayn’s hand on his lap. He can feel Niall’s fingers weaving through his own, and he can see in his peripheral that Niall is smiling a little as Zayn’s heart is racing. Niall’s fingers are delicate but callous, and it’s warm, nothing like Zayn’s ever felt before, and it feels better than the time Niall held his hand underwater because there’s nothing between Zayn’s hand and Niall’s hand, and he feels like he wants to stay in this moment. He wants this moment to last forever because it’s delicate and fragile as he tightens his grip on Niall’s hand, silently begging him to please don’t go. Niall rests his head on Zayn’s shoulder, and Zayn breathes out, feeling enraptured in the moment. This moment’s delicate like dandelions blowing in the wind.

He looks down at Niall, and he thinks that no matter what happens next, it’s finally going to be okay, because Niall’s hand in his makes him feel safe. And Niall smells like safety and home, and Zayn doesn’t ever want to let Niall go, wants to protect Niall from closed closets and bad things, but most of all, he just wants to be with Niall, and it scares him a little, because he’s never wanted to be with a person like this before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the beginning has no Niall at all, but I felt like it was necessary for the character of Zayn and Max? Idk, Max deserves a happy ending too.
> 
> And if you are still reading after 7 chapters, I thank you! :)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the festival chapter, finally! I can't believe I'm almost done with it. I hope you guys enjoyed it so far. Let me know if you liked this chapter by commenting. :)

Zayn and Niall sit in the back seat as Niall’s dad drives them to the festival. Niall is groaning as Mr. and Mrs. Horan tell embarrassing stories of how Niall wet the bed until he was five. Niall’s cheeks grow redder by the minute, and all Zayn wants to do is poke them and see if they feel warm underneath his fingertips.

The thought of his mother’s reaction to Niall and him lingers in his mind, and he’s apprehensive to be happy, which is a weird feeling. He had promised to himself to never make his mother sad or scared again like he did when he kissed Liam, but he’s happy right now. He’s so happy with Niall, and he wants to share it with the world.

They step out of the car, and Niall looks so excited that all Zayn wants to do is hug him. He’s always loved the atmosphere of the Harvest Festival as it starts near sun down. The most beautiful part is when the sun is almost setting and the lights of the carnival booths and carnival rides slowly turn on – leaving the town aglow with different facets of color.

The town goes all out during the Harvest Festival, and everyone’s there, volunteering or manning different booths. They rent Ferris Wheels and bumper cars, and as the hues of orange light up the sky, everyone’s there to watch the sunset together. It’s a time of unity for his whole town, and Zayn’s very happy to be there for Niall’s first time.

“Okay, what are we eating first?” Niall says eagerly as they enter the festival. He sees his sister at the kissing booth flirting with some of the upperclassmen. He automatically rolls his eyes.

“Hotdogs on a stick?” Zayn suggests as Niall looks eagerly at him. He takes a moment to admire Niall. When he first saw Niall in his room, he was scared, but now, Niall is positively glowing, saying that he doesn’t want to talk about what just happened. Niall’s in a light blue, short-sleeved collared shirt. He did his hair, and Zayn thinks Niall looks like absolute perfection. He really just wants to kiss him right now, but he knows that’ll warrant some stares.

“I think you mean corndogs, Zayn, they’re corndogs,” Niall says as he grabs Zayn’s wrist and takes him to the food stands. As they are standing in line, Niall smiles and asks how everyone is doing. Of course Niall would be approachable and know everyone in line; everyone must know the new minister’s son.

Zayn tries his best to smile and not feel uncomfortable as the two people who Niall is talking to look at Zayn with apprehensive eyes. Zayn’s not sure if Niall is just ignoring it or if he just doesn’t notice. He wouldn’t put it pass Niall to notice and not care.

As they get to the front of the line, Zayn orders as Niall is still talking fervently to the people behind him, “Two corndogs please,” he says at the girl behind the counter. He’s pretty sure her name is Rhonda, and he’s sure that she’s only a year younger than him.

“Zayn,” Niall pushes him aside, “What are you doing? How are you, miss?” Niall asks and smiles at her. Zayn scoffs a little and he thinks he feels jealousy bubbling up inside of him, “I think, my friend here, means three corndogs, and a cotton candy, and maybe a drink.”

Zayn’s eyes widen, “Niall, who is this all for? Are you expecting someone else?”

Niall just smiles at him, “Well, the two corndogs are mine, and I’m willing to share the cotton candy, only because I like you.” He takes out his wallet and pays Rhonda.

Rhonda seems the utmost unenthused as she gives them their food.

“So what are we going to do first?” Niall mumbles, scarfing down his first corndog as he makes Zayn hold the other two and the cotton candy. Zayn examines the Harvest Festival, and there’s so much commotion. He loves the little haystacks in every corner, and he wants to challenge Niall to carnival games and hold Niall’s hand all throughout the night.

“What are you up for? I figure we could go on the Ferris Wheel later when the lights are all turned on even though I’m a little afraid of heights,” Zayn admits timidly.

“Well, aren’t you a romantic,” Niall waggles his eyebrows as they bob and weave through the crowds of people, “Come on, I want to win something for you. Then it’ll be a real date,” and Zayn looks down at the ground to make sure that Niall doesn’t see him blush.

“I’m going to get you that one!” Niall exclaims as he sees giant brown bears hanging on top of a booth. Zayn is all giddy from the determination in Niall’s eyes as they both approach it. He sees that Perrie, a girl with shocking blonde hair and pierce blue eyes, smile at them. If Zayn didn’t know any better, he would think that Perrie and Niall were siblings.

Perrie smiles warmly at them, scratch that, Zayn is positively certain that Perrie is beaming at Niall and not Zayn, “Hi Niall,” she says – her eyes bright and her smile ever so gorgeous, “And Zayn,” she says briefly. There was a time when Perrie would look at Zayn like that, but not after everything that has happened.

“Hey, how do I win the big bear there?” It’s a pretty standard game of ring toss, but Zayn knows it’s a difficult one if you don’t know the trick. Perrie explains to Niall that all he has to do is get one ring to land around the top of a bottle, and he gets to choose whatever bear he wants.

Niall forks over five dollars for a bucket of rings, turns to Zayn and say, “Watch and be amazed, Zayn,” Zayn’s pretty sure his face muscles are going to be exhausted by the end of the night by how much he’s smiling. He also knows that Niall is going to fail, horribly, because no one lands a ring, no one except for Zayn and Max because they know the trick, but to stroke Niall’s ego, he lets Niall do it anyway.

As Zayn predicted, Niall misses the first one, and the second one, and by the tenth one, he can see Niall so determined that his forehead is scrunched up with his eyebrows furrowed. He misses that one as well and screams out, “This is impossible, Perrie! This is rigged!” Niall crosses his arms over his chest and huffs his cheeks like a child, and Zayn finds him so endearing that he just wants to grab Niall by the waist and kiss him.

“It’s not rigged, Niall,” Zayn lets out a chuckle, “You just got to know the trick.”

“Oh yeah, hot shot?” Niall says, punching Zayn’s shoulder playfully, “Let’s see you do it then.”

“Okay,” Zayn says – taking the last ring from the bucket. He breathes out and throws it casually. It lands perfectly through a bottle.

“What the hell!” Niall screams as he grabs his hair, “That’s impossible!”

Zayn’s laughing hysterically now, and he forgot how wonderful this felt, to be happy and laughing, “Well, dear, which bear did you want?” He chides.

“Hmph,” Niall looks away at Zayn and points to the obnoxiously giant brown bear with a red bow tied to his neck, “That one.”

“You heard him, Perrie,” Perrie goes and gets the big bear down and hands it to Niall. Zayn tries his hardest to not implode from the cuteness as he sees Niall carry the obnoxious brown bear around with him. The giant thing is so big that Niall has to apologize a few times for running into kids that he doesn’t see.

“This bear’s a hassle,” Zayn says, “I regret winning it for you.”

“Shhh,” Niall says as he sets the bear down, covering his ears, “Zayny can hear you.”

“You named the bear, Zayny?” Zayn says, not even trying to hide the smile on his face anymore. Since when did this happen? Since when was he so content and happy and not thinking about drowning or being broody? He chalks it up to Niall. A person simply cannot be miserable around this kid.

“Yes, it is a commemoration of our first date, Zayn,” Niall says with a smile, “Now excuse me, I have to take a piss. Take care of Zayny,” Niall says, patting the top of the bear’s head. Niall runs off to the bathroom, leaving Zayn and the bear to sit on a haystack.

Zayn checks his phone to see a text from Harry:

**Hope ur having a good time, update me wenever possible**

He looks off in the distance and replies to Harry with a smiley face. The sun is setting over the horizon, and Zayn lets out a sigh. He wonders how his life got to this point, and he wonders if he was meant to go to that camp so that he could’ve met Niall. Or if he hadn’t went to that camp, would he still be here, at the carnival right now, with Niall? Would things be better? He sighs a little, looking at the orange and yellow hues dancing around the skyline as the sun sets.

Mr. Tomlinson sits next to him, “Admiring the sunset, Mr. Malik?” Zayn turns to his teacher, one of his favorite teachers, and smiles at the rainbow wristband he’s still wearing on his hand.

“Yessir,” Zayn says, “I like them a lot, but you know what they say, nothing gold can stay.”

Mr. Tomlinson quirks up an eyebrow, “Robert Frost or The Outsiders?”

He’s always been so fond of Mr. Tomlinson, and Mr. Tomlinson has expressed his own fondness to Zayn because Zayn loves reading, and Zayn quotes books and poems that he knows Mr. Tomlinson will get, “Both I suppose.”

Mr. Tomlinson smiles at Zayn; a smile that Zayn thinks that Mr. Tomlinson understands what he means. He’s always liked that about Mr. Tomlinson, the way he can hurt someone with words, but only encourages kids instead, “Now, Mr. Malik, what did Johnny say to Ponyboy about being gold?”

“Stay gold,” Zayn says – smiling fondly as he remembers the book clearly in his head. He never got what that meant exactly, but he always thought it had a nice ring to it.

“That’s right,” Mr. Tomlinson clicks his tongue at Zayn, “Stay gold, Mr. Malik, stay gold,” and he walks off as Niall comes back.

“Was that Mr. Tommo?” Niall questions as he pats the bear’s head.

“Yeah,” Zayn gets up. He really wants Niall to be on the Ferris Wheel as the lights turn on, and it’ll be just the right time to get in line for it, “Come on, I’ll show you the best view of this town.”

They get in line for the Ferris Wheel and they ask the person in charge of it if he could watch the bear. He doesn’t sound too pleased, but he grunts an agreement anyway.

Zayn and Niall get into one of the carts, and Zayn’s heart is beating a little bit faster than normal. They are halfway up, and Zayn always gets a little nervous the first time around as the people below them become smaller and smaller. Zayn can make out the clumps of people, the smoke from the barbeque, the evergreen trees intermingled with the ones slowly turning orange as they give into Autumn. Zayn looks at Niall, and he decides to do it, he takes Niall’s hand in his, and Niall gives him the warmest smile – still looking out at the town’s lights and the mountains in the distance.

“You know,” Niall says, still not looking at Zayn. Zayn wonders if he did something wrong, “I used to not be, you know, afraid of small spaces.” Zayn wants to tell Niall that he doesn’t have to tell him, that he doesn’t have to explain himself because Niall is perfect regardless of how he’s afraid of small spaces, “Do you want to know why I moved, Zayn?”

Zayn nods, “Only if you want to tell me,” he says as he rests his head on Niall’s shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of Niall – a smell that he came to associate with safety.

“The other kids, at my school,” Niall starts to shake his leg now, he’s nervous and Zayn looks up at Niall, but Niall avoids his eyes, “they, they didn’t like the way I was, or I guess, they didn’t like who I am. So one day, they thought it was funny, these fuckers thought it was funny to lock me in a closet. They screamed out shit like, ‘get back in the closet, fag’ or something like that, and at first, it was fine. I brushed it off because someone would always find me. I would cry and pound on the door until someone would hear me, and someone always did until one day, no one came for me. I cried and I cried and I banged on the door, but no one came, I sat there in the closet for hours, the walls closing in, and I thought to myself that no one knew I was missing. I thought that I couldda died in there, and no one would know,” he pauses a little and looks at Zayn – a hint of sadness in his smile. Niall’s eyes are red, but he doesn’t cry, and all Zayn wants to do is kiss those lips, kiss those eyelashes, kiss Niall until the memory washes away and all that’s left is the memory of Zayn’s lips on his, “I think the janitor found me when everyone was gone, and they called my parents. My parents told me that they couldn’t reach me for hours, state of shock or something, and that I wouldn’t reply to anything they had said. So a long story short, I got diagnosed, we moved, and I met you.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Zayn asks, a stupid question, he’s sure because he didn’t even tell Niall about what had happened at that camp, and he just expects Niall to tell him everything.

Niall smiles widely at Zayn, a smile that reaches his eyes and make the corners crinkle, “You looked at me as if I wasn’t damaged, and I liked that feeling – you didn’t see me as broken, and I like that. And I wanted you to see that you’re not broken either, because you’re not. I wanted my focus to be on you, I wanted to help you, Zayn, but I guess we sorta helped each other, huh?”

“But why? Why do you want to help me? Why do you even like me?” He asks Niall.

“What do you mean?”

“Why? You’re you, Niall, blond hair, blue eyes, funny, hilarious, people like you, and I’m not any of that.  I cry on Sundays and I’m broody and I’m angsty.”

“I eat a lot and I hide my feelings behind my humor. And I like your hazel eyes, I like the way you’re a complete nerd even though you think you’re totally bad ass, and I like the way your tongue touches your teeth when you smile. I also like the way you’re stubborn too, only sometimes. And Max told me about the other night, and you’re kind, Zaynie, like I wouldn’t even know if I could forgive Max if he had done that to me, you know?”

“But I’m broken,” and Zayn doesn’t want to sound melodramatic, but that’s how he feels. He feels like he’s broken because he cries on Sundays and feels like he’s drowning sometimes.

“I just told you you aren’t, Zayn, or maybe we all are, but it doesn’t matter, all that matters is that we try to help each other,” Niall says, looking at Zayn. Zayn looks off into the distance, they’re at the highest point of the Ferris Wheel and Niall and Zayn can see the lights below them flickering on – a slow dance of golden glow beneath their feet. He looks at Niall; the blue in his eyes seem to sharpen as the sun sets.

“I want to kiss you,” Niall says suddenly.

“I,” Zayn whispers, “I do too. Like for a while now.”

“Okay,” Niall smiles, “I’m going to kiss you now,” and Zayn almost chuckles at that, but before he knows it, Niall’s lips are on his, and they’re soft and not chapped, and Niall doesn’t taste like sin, he tastes like the warmth of summer time and a little bit sweet like the taste of cotton candy. Their kiss is soft and light – a hint of innocence with a dash of desire and a yearning for safety.

Zayn feels Niall’s hands touch his face. He feels Niall’s fingers slightly massaging his cheeks, and he blushes a little when he feels Niall’s tongue on his lips, slowly asking for more. He tastes Niall’s tongue, and it’s warm, and Zayn thinks how could this be wrong? If Niall makes him feel safe a few hundred feet above the ground, how could it ever be wrong? Niall pulls away and Zayn groans from the lack of contact.

“Don’t want everyone to see the show, right?” Zayn can’t manage to talk right now as his brain is still on overdrive, “We can do this however you want, Zayn, slow, secretive, fast, as long as I get to be with you.”

Zayn nods because he can’t bring himself to form words yet, and he feels dizzy as he gets out of the vestibule. It’s like he’s floating, like he’s seeing the world differently now, and he’s scared that people might know that he just snogged Niall on a Ferris Wheel.

“Are people staring or is it just me?” Zayn whispers in Niall’s ear.

“They know our secret,” Niall jokes.

“Very funny,” Zayn pushes Niall’s shoulder.

“No, it’s because we look so good together,” Niall winks, and Zayn swears that he’s smitten, and he’d be okay if his parents knew about this, because they should know about this. They should know that Zayn and Niall make each other better, and that they’re young, but they like each other and that’s all that should matter.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was absolutely exhausting to write.
> 
> When Zayn thinks this, ". He tells Niall that he smells like safety and home, and he swears that’s from a song somewhere. And he decidedly named both of Niall’s hands “forever” and “please don’t go” even though he knows it’s cheesy as hell..."
> 
> smelling like safety and home and naming eyes forever and please don't go are directly from Mary Lambert's She Keeps Me Warm.

It’s been two weeks since the Harvest Festival, and the autumn weather has taken a cold turn. The weather nips at Zayn’s nose, and it sends chills down his spine. People are putting on scarves and earmuffs, and Zayn couldn’t be happier with where his life has taken him to. Niall comes over more often now, and Zayn can’t help but to smile at their little secret. It’s okay if it’s a secret, he thinks, he’s not ready, and Niall’s not ready for this to be a full blown fiasco. He’s not sure if he’s ready for everyone to know, and he’s absolutely sure that he’s not ready to be sent to that damn camp again. Never again.

There are days when Zayn would still think about the camp, the thought of drowning still at the back of his mind, a quiet fester that he thinks would never go away. He wonders when it’ll stop; he wonders if it’ll ever stop.

**Ey Z movie nite tonite? :)**

Zayn smiles at the text, and he rightfully snaps out of thoughts of that camp. He doesn’t know when it’ll stop or if it’ll ever stop, but what he does know is that he has Niall for now, and that’s all that matters. He hopes.

**Yes please, promises of cuddles afterwards ahah :)x**

It’s Friday evening and it’s been like this for quite a while, Doniya being the only one that knows. He refuses to tell her about anything that happened at the camp; he doesn’t want her to look at him with pitying looks or unwanted sympathy.

Zayn had made her promise to not tell his parents yet, that it will be on his time, his decision on when he should tell his parents – not hers. She smiled at him when they had the conversation, told him that she loved him regardless. They had a good cry together, and Zayn feels happy, that even though there are still lingering thoughts when he goes to bed, the nightmares still come, but not so often anymore. He’s scared of them the most, the memories are pervasive when he’s awake, but it’s the nights of waking up in cold sweat, feeling like his lungs are on fire, tears brimming in his eyes that makes him realize just how deep his fear has taken root in the recesses of his heart. But by the sunrise, he’s woken up to texts from Niall bringing him back to reality, to the present.

**Ok b dere soon kisses pls**

Seriously though, he needs to teach Niall how to spell properly. Grammar and spelling usually really bother Zayn, but it’s Niall, and almost everything he does is endearing from his braces, to the way he eats things in big bites, to his awful spelling in texts.

He walks to the bathroom to fix his hair, make sure he smells and looks okay for Niall. He’s still a teenage boy, and he’s pretty sure he needs to smell at least decent because he likes the way Niall smells – a little bit like cinnamon, spices, and barley. Zayn smiles at the mirror, wondering how he got so lucky.

He walks back to his room humming a tune that reminds him of Niall.

He stops at the doorway at the sight of his mother looking at his phone. Panic. His heart lurches a little. He’s positively certain that his mother is looking wide-eyed at what he thinks she’s looking at. His brain goes into overload; he claws his brains for excuses. He finds millions of excuses stuck in his throat; he tastes bile; he feels dizzy. He feels too many things at once.

“Mum,” he lets out, “What, are you doing?” His mind’s racing, and his heart’s moving so fast that he feels light-headed.

She stays quiet for a moment, still looking at his phone. He doesn’t know what he feels. He reckons it’s anger at the invasion of privacy, or fear of how his mother would react. He doesn’t want to see his mother’s eyes. He finds himself breathing heavily, trying to scope the situation.

“Mum,” he says again. She quietly sets the phone down and closes her eyes, “Mum, please, I can explain.” Should he lie? There’s no way of lying out of this, right? The evidence was right there, she knows. Zayn wants to scream and run the other way, but it’s his mother. His mother has to understand. His mother, the one that held him when he was a baby, the one that made him soup and put a concerning hand on his forehead whenever he was sick, the one that cooked for him even he wasn’t hungry, his mother would understand, right? Would love him regardless? He just wants his mother to say something, anything, the silence is deafening as he hears the blood rushing to his ears.

“Mum,” he takes a step towards her, not knowing what to do, he feels like he’s going to throw up, but he wants to speak. He wants to tell his mother everything; he wants to tell her that he’s still the same person. His mother’s not even looking at him. He would even let her scream at him, but she just stands there, not looking at him – cold and distant, “Please, say something.”

They stand there, a room full of silence and spaces, and Zayn doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know what to say or do. He wants to scream to make her react because anything is better than this deafening silence.

His mother doesn’t look at him. She sits on his bed with her arms crossed as she fidgets with her shawl. She lets out a sigh, “Is it, is it that Niall boy?” Her voice is no longer familiar; she sounds so exhausted that Zayn just wants to hold her and tell her that yes, and that it’ll be okay, but he doesn’t. He just stands there awkwardly – the space between them still too wide.

His eyes beg her to look at him, but she won’t. He just wants her to look at him like she usually does with eyes beaming of proudness, but she doesn’t. Why won’t his mother look at him?

“Yes.”

“You just can’t be,” she says as she looks at Zayn’s wall full of art and graffiti, “You just can’t be. You know, I bought you your first paint set; you were my little artist, my little man. You were brave and strong, masculine and had a lot of girls chasing after you. You just can’t be.” Zayn lets out a sob, and it’s heavy and ugly. He doesn’t know what’s happening because his eyes are brimming with tears and he thinks he’s shaking, and he feels cold.

“Mum,” Zayn is all he manages to say, but he wants her to know that he’s still all of those things. He wants to say that he’s still her son; he’s still her little artist; he’s still her little man. He’ll always be these things, and he’ll be more. He’ll make her proud someday, and he wants to convince her that he’s still the same, but all that comes out is, “I am, you know? I’m still your son.” Because he’s still her son. She should really know that, but Zayn doesn’t know if she understands him because he’s crying so much that everything that comes out is muffled by his sobs.

She sighs and he can see her eyes gloss with tears. His heart feels so heavy in his chest, and it aches and throbs, and Zayn can’t handle this anymore. He feels his walls caving in,. Everything seems too close, and the air feels thick and constricting like it’s been replaced with tar, and it’s suffocating him.

“I didn’t raise you to be, you know,” she says, finally looking at him. Her eyes are bloodshot, and Zayn’s never noticed how much his mother has aged. He’s never noticed the wrinkles next to her eyes, the grey showing in her hair, the creases on her forehead.

“I just am, you raised me to be smart. You raised me to be kind. You raised me to try hard in school, and you raised me to be a good person,” he’s sobbing through the utterances – choking on his words trying to make his mother understand, why doesn’t his mother understand? He’s still her little boy. He could still be everything she wanted, “But, being gay, you didn’t raise me to be that. I just am.”

“But, have you tried? Tried to not be, you know?”

“The word is gay, mom,” he sobs as she flinches at the word, “It’s okay to say it.”

“Have you tried, Zayn, have you tried to be normal?” Zayn can’t hold back the tears, and he’s bawling now; he’s so overwhelmed, and he thinks that his mother hates him.

“Normal?” He chokes out, “Mom, I’ve always been your son. I still am your son.” He doesn’t know if any of his sisters can hear him crying, but he’s sobbing so loudly that he knows people hear. He knows that someone can hear how much he’s aching for her to understand.

She finally gets up, brushes her tears away, and moves toward him. She takes him in his arms and smiles at him. He misses how safe she feels. He misses the way his mother smells – like barley and lilac, soft and familiar. She blankets Zayn with her warmth.

“You’re my son,” she says as she brushes off the wrinkles in his clothes, “We’re going to fix this. We are. We are going to fix you; we’re going to help you find your way.”

Zayn’s so tired of people telling him that he needs to be fixed. He doesn’t feel wrong, but even his mother thinks so. He doesn’t need fixing. For the first time in his life with Niall, he’s sure that he doesn’t need fixing. He doesn’t understand why his mother can’t comprehend this.

“We’ll have to try again,” his mother says and nods resolutely, “We’ll try that camp again this summer.”

No, no, no. He’s shaking his head fervently. He loses it; he doesn’t know what’s going on anymore, and everything in his line of sight becomes blurry. He can’t tell if he’s screaming, because he can’t hear anything, just the blood rushing to his ears.

He pushes his mother away, the blunt force sending her a few steps backwards, “No, no, no! I’m not going back. I’m not going back! I’M NOT GOING BACK.” He says chaotically. His mother looks at him with wide eyes, “You can’t make me go back there! You can’t! I’m not going back!”

He feels his head whirling in panic. He claws at his hair. His fingernails digging into his scalp and he scratches over and over again. He’s panicking and he’s screaming a stream of no’s. He feels bile burning in his throat, and he wants to run. His ears are ringing and he can’t hear anything. He can’t hear the screams of his sister at the door, and he can barely see his mother standing in front of him in his room – a look of terror plastered on her face.

He can’t focus on anything. He barely hears himself say meekly, “Don’t you love me?”

~

“Zayn? You were here this whole time? I was getting so worried; you stopped replying to your texts, your parents don’t know where you are,” Zayn doesn’t know how he got here, he just knows he’s on Niall’s front porch, “Zayn, you’re shivering, holy shite, Zayn, it’s freezing outside, why are you not wearing a jacket? What’s going on? Are you okay?”

“Niall?” He says looking up at Niall. He tries to focus on Niall’s face, the way his eyes pierce through the darkening evening. He focuses on Niall, because he doesn’t think that he can focus on anything else. His head’s throbbing, and he’s shivering all over.

He feels like it's a dream. It’s as if he’s still watching himself from the outside, “What am I doing here?”

Niall has a perplexed look on his face, and then it hits him, the last few hours hit him. The screaming, the way his mother looked, the way his mother wants to send him back, and he’s crying again. He’s sobbing and it’s almost a relief in how much it hurts. He takes comfort in realizing that he can still feel some semblance of emotions, and he feels heavy. He just slumps his shoulders and cries loudly because his mother doesn’t love him, doesn’t want him. His mother wants to fix him, wants to change him.

Niall is quick to wrap Zayn in his arms, and Zayn feels Niall’s warmth wrap around him – a calm serenity that floods over him. It’s almost lethargic, and Zayn just lets it all go, “I can’t go back, Niall, I can’t go back.”

“You’re not going anywhere, Zayn,” Niall is stroking the small of his back, “You’re not going anywhere. You’re safe here, Zayn, you’re safe here.” He can’t tell if he’s imagining it, but he thinks Niall is crying too, “you’re safe, Zayn, I’ll keep you safe,” is all he tries to focus on.

Zayn realizes that he needs to stop blanking out because the next thing he knows, he’s in an unfamiliar room with Niall dozing off on a chair in the most uncomfortable position. He figures this must be the guest bedroom in Niall’s house. He smiles at the drool forming at the corner of Niall’s mouth. He doesn’t understand how he can still find this stupid, slobbering boy attractive.

He walks out of the room to see Niall’s parents sitting at the kitchen table. It’s still dark, but he sees the beginning of the sun looming over the hills. He didn’t know how night turned to day, and he figures his parents are mighty worried about him right about now.

The smell of breakfast lingers in the air, and he coughs a little. His throat feels dry and his eyes sting from yesterday.

“Zayn! You’re awake,” Maura says – wrapping him up in a hug that reminds him of Niall, “We called your parents to tell them that you’re staying the night, so you don’t need to worry about that, dear.” She looks at him, her eyes telling him that she probably said a lot more to quell the fears of his parents. He swallows the lump in his throat, not wanting to know what awaits him at home. Was his mother terrified of him? Did she even want to look at him anymore after he confessed who he really was? What did his Baba think? Did he agree? Is he going to send him back too?

He closes his eyes for a moment and imagines what’s going on at his household, how his parents must feel, how Doniya must feel, how his two younger sisters are probably clueless at what’s going on. And he thought his life was going so well too, he should’ve known. He should’ve known that people like him don’t deserve good things.

“Dear? Would you like some juice?” Maura asks, her hands still on his shoulders, “You’ve had a long night.”

He nods because he can’t find enough strength to speak. He realizes how parched he actually is as he gulps the orange juice in one go. Maura just smiles as she refills his cup, “Was Niall with me the whole night?”

She smiles at Zayn fondly, “Ah yes, the silly boy wouldn’t leave even when I told him that I would check up on you,” she gestures Zayn to sit at the table as she continues cooking breakfast, “He really cares about you, dear. He can’t stop talking about you, how smart you are, how amazing your jawline is,” she winks at him and Zayn almost chokes on his orange juice.

“I, what?” Niall told his parents about them? And they’re okay with it? How is this real? Niall’s the minister’s son, he was taught that this was a sin, one of the ugliest sins. He doesn’t understand at all, why was Maura not angry at him? Why was Maura offering him juice instead of exorcising him?

“It’s okay, dear,” she says as she busies herself with the bacon, “I’ve known ever since Niall was little, and I could care less. He’s still my son, and he deserves all my love even when he doesn’t want it,” the way she talks about Niall makes Zayn choke up a little, make his eyes well up a little with tears because he wishes his mother would feel the same way. He wishes his mother would think the same way as Maura. He wishes his mother could see how happy Niall makes him, and he wishes his mother could accept him for he is.

It’s almost as if she knows what Zayn’s thinking, “She’ll come around, dear, it might be hard at first, but she’ll come around. She’s your mother. Her instincts are to protect you.”

It doesn’t feel like it; it doesn’t feel like his mother loves him at all when all she wants to do is fix and change him, “When I found out what they were doing to my dear boy at his old school, I nearly lost it. I thought how could God be so cruel to my precious boy who wanted nothing more than to make everyone happy? I blamed God at first, then I thought to blame Niall, but my husband explained it to me. It wasn’t God’s fault, it was our fault, it was the way people misconstrued His word. It wasn’t God, it was people, people who spread hatred disguising it as God’s words. It’s not, and I wanted to protect Niall because he was still my boy, and he only deserved the best. And you look at him with such admiration and adoration, and it didn’t matter if you were a boy or a girl as long as you cared for him as much as we care for him.”

“Maura,” the minister steps into the kitchen and pats Zayn’s shoulders. Zayn tries to smile at him, and it’s weird to see the minister in anything that’s not minister attire, “They’re sixteen years old; they’re not off to get married or anything, calm down.”

She laughs at this, “I want fat grandchildren, you hear me, Zayn? Four of them – plump and running around in the front yard.” Zayn can’t help but to laugh at the silliness of that image, even though the laughter feels foreign to him. He now knows why Niall is the way he is, such a ball of sunshine all the time, because his parents are amazing people.

“Do I smell breakfast?” Zayn turns around and immediately smiles at the sight of Niall with his frazzled blond hair, and the way grogginess is still written all over his face.

“There’s the man of the hour,” the minister says, “Your mother was just telling Zayn about her future plans.”

“Mum!” Niall groans as he plops down on the chair next to Zayn, whispering an “I’m sorry”.

“Oh, Ni,” Maura says as they serve them, “It’s nothing really. I was just telling Zayn how I wanted to have four plump grandchildren before I’m old and grey.”

“Mum! I’m sixteen! I can barely take care of myself!” Niall groans as he covers his face with his hands. Zayn can’t help but to laugh at him.

“I can attest to that,” the minister says, chuckling a little and turning to Zayn, “And Zayn, your father is picking you up soon. I figure that you have some things to work out, but I promise, if you feel like you need somewhere to stay, with your parents’ permission, you can stay here.” Zayn doesn’t want to have a talk with his family; he doesn’t want to talk to his father. In fact, he doesn’t want to go home at all, but he feels like he has to. He feels like it’s the right thing to do even though it might be a warzone at home, even though he thinks his parents probably won’t want him to stay under their roof anymore.

“That’s right, dear, you’re always welcome here – in the guest bedroom, not in Niall’s bed, of course.”

“Mum! Is that really necessary?” Niall barks, eggs flying a little out of his mouth.

“Ni, chew with your mouth close,” Niall swallows his food in a few gulps, and Niall notices that Zayn has barely eaten. Zayn hasn’t gotten the appetite because he’s afraid of what his father is going to say. He’s afraid of what’s going to happen next. He doesn’t want to go back to that camp – just the thought of it makes his hair stand on end.

 Zayn feels Niall’s hand on his thigh and he smiles a little, bringing him back to reality, “May we be excused, mum?”

“Yes, but leave your door room open, I want children, but not that early,” his mother jokes. Niall groans and turns a bright red. Zayn can feel his ears getting red from the off-colored joke.

“Maura, I’m almost certain you know that that’s physically impossible,” his father says, laughing anyway.

“We’re leaving now,” and Niall stands up and gestures Zayn up the stairs.

Niall doesn’t close the door as his mother suggests, but it doesn’t stop him from crowding into Zayn’s space, hooking his index finger into Zayn’s beltloop and kissing him on the lips. It’s not one with lots of tongue, but it’s nice. The warmth of the kiss makes Zayn smile.

“You smell like breakfast,” Zayn jokes.

“Well, you don’t smell like roses in the morning either, Zayn,” Niall jests as he sits down his bed – patting the spot where he wants Zayn to sit.

“So,” Niall starts, elongating the word a little, “You know I’m not the prying type, but you kept saying something about how you don’t want to go back. Where don’t you want to go back? It’s okay if we don’t want to talk about it, but if you feel like you can, Zayn, I want to know, so I can tell you everything’s okay, because everything will be, you know? Everything _is_ going to be okay.” Niall nods affirmingly.

Zayn doesn’t want to relive anything, but he wants Niall to know, and perhaps it won’t be such a secret anymore, perhaps it won’t fester in his mind anymore if he just tells someone. Maybe it’ll be better if Niall knows why he’s so terrified at night, why he wakes up screaming sometimes.

Zayn lets out a sigh and begins to tell his story, from beginning to end. He pauses when he feels he can’t do it anymore, but he keeps going when Niall takes his hand and holds it tightly. He can see the outrage on Niall’s face, his face huffing out in anger and his eyes brimming with tears. Niall whispers he’s sorry now and then, and Zayn doesn’t really understand why Niall is apologizing, but he appreciates the sentiment.

He tells Niall about how his saving grace was a curly-haired, green-eyed giant with long limbs and a penchant for elongating his words more than necessary. He tells Niall all about Liam and Harry. He tells him about how he still has nightmares about drowning, and how he’s still afraid to go in the shower sometimes. He tells Niall that he smells like safety and home, and he swears that’s from a song somewhere. And he decidedly named both of Niall’s hands “forever” and “please don’t go” even though he knows it’s cheesy as hell, and they’ve only known each other for several weeks. He tells Niall all of this and Niall sits there with his head on Zayn’s shoulder, his thumb running circles on the outside of Zayn’s hand.

He tells Niall that he’s just so tired of being pushed into lockers and trying to be something he’s not. And he thought that if his mother knew, things would be easier. He wanted his mother to see him for who he really was and that he hasn’t really changed, but his mother didn’t see it that way.

He remembers the way his mother’s face looked; he tells Niall that he thinks it’s his entire fault. It’s all his fault that his mother hates him, and how she looks older than she really is. How when his mother told him he needed to be fixed, he was angry at himself for being this way.

In fact, he’s still angry that he can’t change, because he’s tried to change. He’s tried so hard to change and think about girls like he does with boys, but he just can’t. He just wants to see his mom happy and smiling and being proud of him, and he wants this so badly that it only makes him cry some more.

He tells Niall that no matter how hard he tries, he’ll be trying to be something he’s not for the rest of his life, and Zayn’s a little bit angry, but he finds himself feeling more exhausted than angry, “I’m just so tired, Niall, so tired of everything.”

“I feel so wrong underneath my skin, and when my mother found out, I felt like I couldn’t breathe. It felt worse than that God-forsaken camp. It felt like I was drowning, but like, in a different way.” He blinks backs the tears as he remembers seeing his mother, torn apart from the inside because of him, “I don’t want to go back there, Ni, I swear, just thinking about it is making me panic. I get nightmares about that minister’s face; I wake up screaming in the middle of the night. I cry on Sundays because of that fucking place, because it’s my religion that’s telling me I’m broken, and that place cemented it. They tried to drown it out of me, but all that place did was ingrained me that I am a fucking freak and they needed to fix me.”

“And to hear it from my own mother that I wasn’t normal either, something in me broke. I’m so tired. I didn’t know my mother felt this way about me, Ni. I didn’t know that she thought I wasn’t normal. I always thought, like, I was okay, I know I’m not the greatest person or smartest, but like, I genuinely thought she would be proud of me no matter what.” She isn’t, and it breaks his heart, “I’m just so tired, and I don’t think I can try to change anymore, but I don’t want to go back, and like, I just want her to love me all the same. But she thinks I’m broken, Ni, all broken and need some fixing or something.”

Niall sighs and finally says, “You think you’re broken and you say you’re scared, but I don’t see that at all, Zayn, I think you’re one of the bravest people I know.” He kisses Zayn’s forehead, and somehow it feels more intimate than a kiss on the lips, “You’re not going back there, Zayn.”

It’s an earnest promise, and Zayn nods even though he doesn’t know how much persuasion a sixteen year old kid can have on his parents, but he likes the gesture anyway.

“Yeah?” Zayn says. He wants to believe Niall so bad.

“Yes.” Niall kisses Zayn lightly on the lips, and Zayn will never get tired of this. He thinks he’ll never get tired of Niall. Niall pulls back a little and he smiles at Zayn, and all Zayn wants to do is feel Niall’s lips on his again, and so he leans in to kiss Niall harder, firmer, more reassured that this is definitely a good thing – that Niall is a good thing.

He’ll never get tired of Niall’s lips on his – the way Niall’s lips feel soft against his chapped skin. The way Niall hesitantly asks for more, asking for permission, and not wanting to hurt Zayn, but Zayn wants all of Niall. Zayn wants to taste Niall. He lets Niall in, and he feels the warmth of Niall’s tongue dancing with his; he feels the warmth of Niall’s hand on his cheek, his thumb delicately massaging Zayn’s skin – skating across the surface. Zayn feels hot under Niall’s touch, and he wants more from Niall. He finds his hand at the back of Niall’s neck as he deepens their kiss.

He wants to remember this for a long time, the way Niall’s spelling safety with his tongue, the way Niall’s lips promise safety without words. He wants to remember how Niall makes him feel as they kiss with such passion, like a fiery red, and such assurance, like a sunny gold.

Niall’s father calls them both down, and they break away from each other, breathing heavily. Zayn feels a little bit empty from the loss of contact.

Zayn sees his Baba in the kitchen. It feels like forever since Zayn has seen him. Zayn’s Baba has always been unreadable – facial expressions always stoic unlike his mother. He wonders what’s happening at home, and he’s reluctant to go. He doesn’t want to go back, and he definitely doesn’t want to talk about that camp ever again.

“Call me later, okay?” He nods at what Niall says and starts walking towards the door, “Zayn, wait!” Niall runs up to him and hugs Zayn so tight that he falls a few steps backwards from the impact, and Zayn’s reminded of how Niall wants to keep him safe, and how he wants to keep Niall safe.

He lets go when his Baba coughs a little, and he follows his Baba to his van.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, feel free to comment if you want!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, it's finally finished. It took a while, and thanks to everyone who has been reading so far. Sorry, no smut, I never envisioned smut for this fanfiction.
> 
> Please leave comments, and thanks for reading, I really appreciate it!
> 
> Also, I didn't make the song that Niall sings, it's Mary Lambert's She Keeps Me Warm. Here's the link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=soxIVq4caOg
> 
> Listen to it for extra feels.

Zayn looks out at the passenger seat window; he doesn’t know what to say to his Baba. He can probably deduce that his parents have talked to each other. He doesn’t know where to begin, so he settles for chewing the inside of his cheek instead.

He wonders how he’s gotten to this point, and he’s a little bit scared to go back home. He’s afraid to look at his mother, and he’s afraid of what his father is going to say, or if he’s going to say anything at all. He can’t decide what’s worse.

His Baba coughs, clears his throat, and says, “Zayn.” Zayn can tell his father’s nervous, but he doesn’t know why. His father’s hands are firm on the steering wheel. Zayn knows that he’s not the perfect son. He’s always been a little different – choosing art over sports, and he knows his Baba’s a little disappointed at that. He’s the only son, so his relationship with his Baba has always been a little strained.

“I don’t know how to approach this, Zayn,” his father starts. Zayn swallows in hesitancy – not looking forward to this conversation. Is his father going to send him back to the camp? Will he have a choice if they decide that he’s going back there?

“I might be doing this the wrong way, but you’re going to help me learn, son, we’re going to get through this together.”

He looks at his father and he can see the furrow of his brow and the lines of age showing on his face. His father has always been the silent type; his mother filling in the silence. He would like to think that he got that from his father – the silence and the brooding.

“You’re not going back there,” his father says softly.

“What?” Zayn thought he heard wrong. He’s pretty sure he has, because even though he swears he would never go back there, he’s only 16, and he technically has to do what his parents say.

“I don’t know what they did to you there, son,” his father starts, “but I know that it’s gotten you terrified. You think that we haven’t noticed that you’re not the same anymore ever since you came back, but I’ve noticed. Every day, I wake up and I see the light has gone in your eyes, and it terrifies me. It terrifies me because it was something that _we_ did to you.”

Zayn feels a lump in his throat, but he doesn’t know if he can cry again. He doesn’t know if he has any tears left. He wants to tell his father that it’s not his fault, but Zayn can’t seem to voice the words he wants to say.

“You know,” his father says to fill the void, “I think I’ve always known. I just pushed it in the back of my mind,” his father strums his fingers through his own hair. He pauses for a moment, “I loved you the minute you were born, Zayn, and I loved you when you _accidentally_ broke your mother’s favorite vase, and I’ll love you until the day I die.”

He doesn’t look at his father anymore. He’s scared that he might cry because he’s so overcome with emotion. He never thought that this would happen – that his father would be the one to tell him all the things he needed to hear. His father was always strong, silent, grunting in disapproval whenever necessary, but now he’s the one comforting Zayn. And Zayn’s so grateful for it.

“And I’m sorry,” Zayn can hear the crack in his father’s voice, and that makes the tears brim in his own eyes, “Your mother and I, we didn’t know, son. We’re human, and we put you through that place, and it changed you. I can’t even look at myself in the mirror because I did that to you. It was something _we_ did to you.”

Zayn didn’t know that his Baba knew. He thought that he hid it well – something he buried deep in the recesses of his mind, keeping the monsters of memories at bay. He didn’t do as good of a job as he thought he did.

“Baba,” he manages, “You don’t have to be sorry,” they didn’t know, Zayn convinces himself. They didn’t know what was going on in that place because if they did, they would have never sent Zayn there.

They pull into their driveway, but his father doesn’t get out of the car. Instead he sits there, and Zayn’s wondering if he should get out or stay as well.

“It was our job to protect you, son,” his father’s looking at him now – a look of sorrow in his eyes. Zayn wants to say he understands that his parents didn’t know, but he thinks a part of his father is speaking to resolve his own turmoil. So Zayn sits there and listens, “I promise, that I will do anything in my power to protect you. You’re our son, and your mother, she’ll come around. She just doesn’t know how to deal with this right now, but she will. She loves you so much, son, just give it time.”

“Baba,” Zayn says, “You didn’t know,” is all that Zayn says because he wants his Baba to understand too, that he can never hate his parents. He’s never done it before, but his father leans in for a hug, and Zayn just feels a wave of relief wash over him. He doesn’t know what it is, but he just feels like he couldn’t be anymore grateful for how things turn out. Sure, he still has unresolved tension with his mother, but this, this right here, his Baba’s promise that he’s not going back to that camp means so much to him.

“I’m not going back,” he says – moreso to himself than his father.

“No,” his father says. He doesn’t remember a time where he has been this close to his father, but this makes him appreciate it all the more. His father steps out of the car and walks to Zayn’s side as he steps out. His father puts an arm over Zayn’s shoulders, “Now, about that Niall kid, he’s a good guy, isn’t he?”

Zayn blushes a little and smiles, “The best.”

“Well,” he says, “that’s good.” Zayn can sense how uncomfortable his father is, but he’s trying, and that’s all that Zayn can really ask for.

“What about mum? Should I talk to her? Or –“ Zayn doesn’t know what to do, honestly. He wants to talk to his mother, maybe apologize for what happened earlier, but he still feels raw from their exchange.

“She’ll come around,” his father says, “and you just have to give it time. I’ll see you at dinner?” He gets the hint. He doesn’t know what the interaction with his mother will be like, but he figures it’ll be awkward. How can it not be? He wonders if his relationship with his mother will ever be the same, but he wants it to be though. He wants it so badly to be.

Instead of seeking out his mother like he wants to, he decides to go upstairs to his room instead. He wonders what it’ll be like at the dinner table tonight, but he figures that it won’t be so bad if he’s still allowed in the house.

“Baby brother,” Doniya’s lying on his bed, giving him a look that is distinctly Doniya. A look that he has come to associate with sympathy and love all rolled into one – a look that he has seen her do a lot specifically when it came to him, “How are you doing?” She gets up and gives him a hug.

He’s not really a hug kind of person, but he’s been hugged a lot lately. He figures it’s quite nice, “I’m good, Doniya.”

“You gave me quite a scare, you know?” She speaks softly, as if Zayn’s still breakable.

“How is mum?” She winces a little, makes a “tch” sound before dropping her gaze.

“She’s mum,” she finally says, sitting back down on his bed and fidgets with his bed sheets as he goes to sit on the other side, “She’ll come around.”

 “That’s what Baba said,” he probably sounds frustrated, “It’s like I broke something or did something criminally wrong. People come around when someone does something wrong, but the more I think about it, the more I, like, I think didn’t I do anything wrong?”

“Zayn, you didn’t do anything wrong. And I’m not excusing her actions, but you have to see it from her perspective. There’s nothing wrong with you being gay at all, it just takes time for her to digest the whole thing.”

“It shouldn’t even be a thing to digest, she should just get it. She should just love me regardless,” Zayn thinks that doesn’t sound so unreasonable, right?

“And she does, little brother,” Doniya says, “She looked pretty astraught when you left yesterday.”

“You mean distraught,” he manages a smile.

“Shut up, know-it-all. I’m trying to have a moment with you here, and you ruined it! You’re insufferable!”

“I can’t believe you know the word insufferable, but not distraught.”

“I can’t believe you’re a dick.”

They both burst out laughing. His sister can always make him feel better, and it feels nice, to just laugh with his sister.

“So, speaking of dicks,” Zayn sees where this is going and groans, “How big was Niall?”

“Doniya!” Zayn feels a blush rising in his cheeks again, “Please! I didn’t even see it yet.”

“That’s upsetting, I mean, if I went running to my boyfriend’s house, the least he could do was give me a sympathy lay.”

“You’re ridiculous, get out of my room.”

He pushes her off the bed and she runs out laughing. He closes his eyes, a smile still on his lips as he thinks about Niall, his sister, and his Baba. He silently thinks to himself, that yeah, maybe his mother will come around eventually.

~

They sit at the dinner table in silence. Zayn always thought that it was just a figure of speech about how you can cut tension with a knife, but the air is so thick with unsaid words that he feels like he can’t breathe. He avoids his mother’s gaze altogether, and he’s pretty sure that she does the same. His sister is giving a very clear expression of “well, this is super awkward”, and he almost laughs every time he looks at her.

His Baba, on the other hand, seems to ignore the fact that there’s a giant, gay elephant in the room, and continues to eat his food as if nothing’s wrong.

He fidgets with his food as his mother is feeding Safaa. He doesn’t know how they still manage to fit at the table without falling all over each other, but he likes it. He enjoys these meals with his family, a sort of normalcy even after everything that has happened.

 “It’s okay if you like boys!” And just when Zayn thinks the room could not get any quiter, it reaches a deafening silence. Doniya cracks up at what Waliyha just blurted out, and it just eggs her on, “Like, it’s okay if you like boys, and it’s okay to like Niall because he’s really cute and nice and he helps me with my homework.”

His mother freezes right in the middle of feeding Safaa.

Zayn’s eyes widen, and he doesn’t know whether to laugh or to cry or to run away and dig himself in a hole six foot deep. Before he manages to even react, his mother gets up and walks away from the dinner table.

“Mum,” he whispers. He grips the table so tight that his knuckles turn white. Doniya notices and puts a hand over his, “I’m okay,” he manages, but he doesn’t feel okay. His just sighs and doesn’t know what to do with himself either.

“What did I say?” Waliyha manages.

Zayn wonders what will happen now. He just knows that he’s hurting, and that maybe his relationship with his mother might not be so easy to fix, and that scares him.

~

Zayn wakes up on Sunday morning, and it takes him a minute to realize what has happened the past few days. His mother didn’t wake him up like she used to, and just that thought makes his heart hurt a little. He crawls out of bed and gets in the shower. He stands there for a second, and thinks about everything that has happened, from Liam to Harry to the camp to meeting Niall. He smiles a little because even he has to commend himself for going through so much in such a small amount of time.

When he arrives at church with his family, they sit in the middle with his mother next to him. She doesn’t look at him, and he wants to ask her how long this rift between them will last, but he doesn’t dwell on it because he swears he catches Liam and his family at the front.

Liam’s eyes are on him, a soft kind of brown that has always made him feel uncomfortable.

“Doniya,” he whispers, “Liam’s here.”

She looks where Zayn is looking and she whispers back, “Oh yeah, he was visiting his grandma this weekend. I didn’t bother to tell you because you know, things.”

“Right,” and would it even have mattered if he knew Liam was here? He looks at Liam, and he doesn’t feel anything anymore – no more frustration or lust or annoyance. He wonders if Niall knows if this is the same Liam that Zayn has talked about, if Niall connected that the strangers in the church was the same family that caused this chain of events. Niall should know though, should know that it was partly Liam’s fault that Zayn went to that camp, but it was also partly Zayn’s fault because he had wanted to kiss Liam too. But now, all he can think about are Niall’s lips, and the way he smiles, and Zayn’s smiling just thinking about it. He almost laughs to himself because he’s still looking at Liam and smiling, and Liam probably thinks he’s smiling because of Liam when he’s obviously not.

Niall approaches the front with a stool and his guitar slung on his back. It’s almost weird to see Niall in his Sunday best now with his white dress shirt and a slender black tie because the Niall he knows is always in tank tops and snapbacks. He smiles at the audience, and Zayn sits up a little straighter, “Hi,” Niall says, “I wrote a song, I don’t know if it’s good or not, but I wanted to dedicate it to someone special.”

He slings his guitar around, and he looks directly at Zayn. Zayn’s heart melts a little, and he doesn’t notice the giant grin plastered on his face. Niall starts singing, and Niall’s voice is soft and airy – a gentleness that caresses Zayn’s ears, _he says I smell like safety and home_. Zayn swears he’s reeling in happiness because Niall’s singing to him ( _I named both of his eyes ‘forever’ and ‘please don’t go’)_ – actually singing to him, and how could he ever ask for more? _I could be your morning sunrise all the time, all the time_. Zayn finds himself smiling like an idiot, and Niall’s looking back at him and Zayn can see the blush on Niall’s face from here. He listens to Niall, and it’s as if no one else is in the room except for the two of them, and Zayn doesn’t give any care about how cheesy that sounds.

_I’m not crying on Sundays_ , he sings and all Zayn wants to do is wrap himself in Niall. He feels himself overcome with emotions, and this is it. This is the moment that he decides that Niall is it for him. Zayn locks this moment and stores it within himself for a rainy day, promising himself that he’ll look back on right now whenever he has any doubts about himself or Niall. He’s going to try with Niall because Niall has peeled the many layers of Zayn and has written a song that defines Niall.

Zayn decides that Niall singing in a church with the reflection of mosaic tiles dancing on the floor with the sunlight is some kind of poetry. If he could draw this exact moment and replicated it in its perfection, he would, but he figures that no picture will do Niall justice. This boy, who eats too much and smiles with a mouth full of braces, is Zayn’s, and he couldn’t be happier.

As Niall finishes his song, Zayn finds a hand on top of his, and he looks at his mother. She’s still not looking at him, but she’s smiling. He thinks this is progress.

His mother doesn’t take her hand off of his until the sermon ends. He tries to communicate all that he can without speaking, and he hopes his mother understands.

Niall approaches him after the sermon, “Did you like the song, Z?”

“No,” Niall’s face falls a little, “Who is this person you wrote it for? I’m a little jealous of him.”

“Oh,” he finds himself smiling as Niall’s eyes glimmer with excitement, “You don’t know him. He has a killer jawline, and he’s really funny – totally unlike you.”

Zayn laughs a little and punches Niall softly on the shoulder, “Can you sing it to me again? In private?”

“All the time,” Niall says with a smile, and all Zayn wants to do is hug Niall right here in church, but he knows that even though Niall’s father is very understanding, he still doesn’t want to cause a riot or a scandal.

“Ew!” Doniya screams as she approaches them, “This is a place of worship, boys! Get a room!” She whispers in Niall’s ear something that makes him blush wildly, and Zayn is about to ask, when someone taps him on the shoulder.

He sees Liam, and Zayn can’t help but notice how good he looks. He seems happier than before, “Hi,” Liam says with a smile.

“Hi,” he says back, not knowing what to do, so he puts his hands in his pockets, and shifts his weight.

“I’m Niall,” Niall steps in, and Zayn swears he’s standing a little straighter, puffing up his chest as if he’s boasting – like two alpha wolves competing against each other. Zayn tries his best to contain the snigger rising in him, Niall being macho is quite possibly the funniest thing he has ever seen.

“I think he’s jealous,” Doniya whispers to Zayn, and maybe Zayn likes it just a little. He likes that Niall is possessive and potentially jealous of Liam, but he also reassures Niall that Liam in no way compares to him. Liam doesn’t move like Niall does, doesn’t understand Zayn like Niall does, wasn’t there for Zayn when he needed him most.

“I’m Liam, is it okay if I talk to Zayn for a minute?” Zayn wants to say no, but he’s curious as to what Liam has to say. Niall looks hesitant a little, but he just shrugs and looks at Zayn with wide eyes.

Zayn finds himself following Liam out to the bench again. He realizes that Liam didn’t take his wrist this time, and he’s grateful for that. He sits in the same spot as he did the first time this happened, and this time Liam’s looking out at the lake. All Zayn can see is the back of Liam’s head - a mess of curls and wavy hair. There are those ducks again that are always there, and Zayn feels like he should name them after all the times he’s sat here admiring the sunrise and sunset.

“I’ve missed you,” Liam manages, “It’s strange coming back here. It seems like a lifetime ago that everything happened.”

Zayn takes a deep breath and walks to stand next to him, “It really has been,” because Zayn is nowhere near the person he used to be. He’s not nervous next to Liam anymore.

“I’m sorry,” Liam says after a while, still not looking at Zayn, “For everything. I don’t know what was going through me at the time. My new church says it was just a phase.”

Zayn doesn’t quite get it because he’s sure what he’s feeling is not a phase. He figures that even if Niall wasn’t here, he’d probably still feel this way about other boys, “I have a girlfriend now.”

Zayn quirks up his eyebrow, “Oh.”

“You don’t have to be, Zayn,” Liam bites his lower lip, hesitates a little, “I chose not to be. I’m not anymore.”

It takes a while for Zayn to realize what Liam’s saying, “I can help, Zayn, if you want to change.” He can sense how earnest Liam sounds – like always.

But that’s just it, Zayn doesn’t want to change. Zayn doesn’t want to be whatever it is that Liam is, because then he wouldn’t have Niall. He wouldn’t have discovered the extent of how much his father and even his mother loved him. If all of this didn’t happen, he wouldn’t have become closer to Doniya, and he wouldn’t have found Harry.

He lets out a hearty laugh that startles Liam. Liam’s looking at him quizzically, and for the first time in forever, he feels at peace with himself, “But that’s the thing, Liam, like, I’m so happy that you have a girlfriend and that you’re happy, but I don’t want to change – like I like where I am now, you know? And I like Niall a lot, and if I wasn’t gay,” Zayn notices that Liam flinches at the word, “I wouldn’t’ve met him or be with him. And he makes me happy, Liam, so happy.”

Liam takes a sharp inhale, “Oh.” He looks at Zayn then with a smile, “Then that’s all matters, right?” He shakes Zayn’s hand. Just a few months ago, he was kissing Liam at this very spot, and now he’s saying goodbye.

Zayn watches as Liam walks away, Zayn hesitantly waves to his parents as they come to embrace Liam. He walks back to the church to find Niall and Doniya sitting in front and laughing. He likes a lot of things about Niall, but Niall’s laugh has got to be on the top of that list.

“So what did he want, Z?” Niall asks.

“Why you wanna know? You’re jealous, aren’t you?”

“Doniya says I can take him.” He tries to stifle a laugh, but it’s hard to imagine Niall getting into any kind of altercation, “Don’t laugh! I totally can!”

“I don’t doubt it,” Niall looks at him skeptically, “Okay, I doubt it a little.” Niall secretly touches Zayn’s hand with his, and yeah, Zayn can definitely get used to this.

~

“I can’t say I’m disappointed, but I expected better,” it’s Monday morning and Mr. Tomlinson is passing back the papers that they had to write however long ago. Zayn sees Niall already asleep next to him, but that doesn’t last long as Mr. Tomlinson walks up to Niall’s desk and drops Niall’s paper on his head, “You, especially, should not be asleep. Zayn, I’m disappointed in you too,” Zayn’s puzzled, he thought he did pretty well on that essay, “To think about how eloquently you write, it would rub off on Niall.”

“I wish he’d rub me off in other ways,” Niall says under his breath while waggling his eyebrows. Zayn’s cheeks turn a deep shade of red, and Mr. Tomlinson just scoffs. Niall looks at his paper, “I got a C! That’s not bad!” Niall shouts, and the class laughs at him.

Niall can write wonderful songs and speak so eloquently, but when it comes to essay writing, he’s shit? That’s strange to think of.

“I see that you’re always aiming high, Mr. Horan.” He’s just about to raise his hand when Mr. Tomlinson continues talking because he doesn’t get his paper back, “Now, this is just a personal narrative, so I didn’t grade as harshly as I could have, but I expect everyone to work a little bit harder next time.”

“I’ve heard good things about you, Zayn,” Mr. Tomlinson states as he picks up Zayn’s essay from his desk, “but reading what you wrote was pretty great – it was personal, and although you were a little _verbose_ and went over the word limit, it was excellent. Would you mind me reading the last part?” Zayn blushes a little, but shrugs, “Actually, you should just come up here and read it.”

Zayn hesitantly agrees – never one for large crowds, “Go ahead,” Mr. Tomlinson says as he hands over the paper, “just the last part.”

He takes a deep breath and starts, “Out in a field of barley lays a boy who wishes for his future to come – something better, something bigger than these four walls, bigger than this town, something grand like a sunset – a fiery blaze right before darkness hits,” he looks at Niall as he reads, and Zayn’s never seen him so interested in any class before, and this just makes him smile, feeling less afraid.

He notices that Niall is sitting up in his seat and giving him his undivided attention, and this gives him courage, “He watches sunsets. He would sit there for hours to watch the sun set over the horizon. There were days that he almost thought sunsets laughed at him, mocked him, because he honestly believed that there was no such glorified sunset made for him – that sunsets were made for other people who deserved it more. So one day, he gave up running after sunsets because after all the sunsets he’s seen, some he chased, some he just watched idly, he realized he should be chasing after sunrises. Some people deserve sunsets while others deserve sunrises, but he believed he deserved both. He realized, ‘I deserved sunrises too.’”

He looks at Niall for a little bit, and then smiles at Mr. Tomlinson, “Bravo, Mr. Malik, the personification and symbolism in that was perfect.”

“Mr. Tommo!” Niall says as he raises his hand, totally defeating the purpose, “If you wanted something cheesy, I could’ve written that!”

“Mr. Horan, although I appreciated your idea that food should be worshipped, I did not appreciate reading three pages of how Nando’s should be a sacred place – that is both _blasphemous_ and _ridiculous_.” The class erupts in laughter and Zayn can’t help but laugh as he goes back to his desk. Niall huffs and crosses his arms.

He leans towards Zayn’s desk and whispers, “It was beautiful, Zayn, it really was.” Zayn is a sixteen year old boy, and he still blushes when the boy he has a crush on compliments him. He has resigned to believe that this is his life.

It’s the end of the period and Zayn’s packing up his stuff when he sees Niall next to him, “You’re not going to your next class.”

“What,” Zayn says – more of a statement than a question, “What do you mean?”

“We’re ditching, let’s go.”

Zayn _never_ does this, but somehow, a few minutes later, he finds himself sneaking out of his school with Niall’s hand in his – laughing and stumbling.

“I know just the place.”

They walk for a while, avoiding the main streets, and Zayn almost laughs as he slowly understands where they are going, “Seriously, you told me to ditch so we can go to church?”

“No one’s here right now,” Niall walks up to the bench where Zayn was just with Liam yesterday, “and did you know, Zayn, this is the first place we actually talked.” He looks at Niall, and squints a little as the sun hits his eyes. He catches the blue in Niall’s eyes, and he realizes he’ll never get over how sharp they look at times and how soft they look at others, “Well, it was more like I talked a lot, and you were being a bag of dicks.”

Zayn scoffs and remembers that moment fondly, “Yeah, and I still couldn’t get rid of you.”

“Nope, not even if you tried,” Niall digs through his backpack, and takes out two mason jars, sandwiches, and a couple of fruit cups. Zayn’s not even surprised, “What? I couldn’t risk bringing a picnic basket to class, could I? I thought we’d enjoy the rest of this nice weather; never know when it’s going to be cold again.”

Niall swings his arm over Zayn’s shoulder, pretending to yawn, “You’re not very smooth,” Zayn notes.

“It worked, didn’t it? I don’t see you moving away,” Niall gests as he waggles his eyebrows and smiles, “So, Z,” Niall is fidgeting with his shoulder a little as Zayn leans his head next to Niall, “I like you.”

Niall’s heart is beating a little bit faster than usual, and Zayn looks out at the lake, “I like you too, Ni.”

“Yeah?” Niall asks earnestly, “Well, you see, I like you. You like me, we should just, you know.”

Niall pauses and his heart’s beating so fast in his chest that Zayn almost wants to ask if he’s alright, “What?”

“You know,” Niall says shrugging, “Do you want to be, my boyfriend?” Niall lets out a nervous chuckle and Zayn looks up at him. He sees Niall’s cheeks get rosy, and it looks nice as it contrasts Niall’s pale skin.

“I’ll think about it,” Zayn gests.

Niall overtly groans, “Aw come on, Z! I packed you sandwiches!”

“Ni,” Zayn says, straightening out now, “I would be a fool to say no.”

“Really? You mean it?” Niall asks, and Zayn’s surprised that he’s even surprised about this. Niall stands up and lets out a whoop as he fist pumps the air, “Zayn Malik is my boyfriend!” He screams and a few of the ducks fly away with an indignant squawk – obviously annoyed at this person whose bothering their bath time.

He goes up to some ducks that haven’t and screams at them as well, “Zayn Malik is my boyfriend!” Zayn just laughs at how ridiculous this whole situation is, and he goes up to Niall, puts his hands on Niall’s waist. Niall turns to face him, and Zayn can’t get over how he smells or what he looks like – a bright ball of sunshine, this one.

Zayn has wanted to do this for a while, and now he takes the first step to place his lips on Niall’s. Niall’s lips are soft on his, and it’s chaste for a few seconds. Zayn tightly grips Niall’s waist and asks for more with his tongue. Just like that, Zayn tastes Niall - warm, inviting, and Zayn gets lost in the familiarity of Niall’s scent – a mixture of cologne, sun-kissed barley, and something distinctly Niall.

Niall pulls away, and Zayn automatically groans at the loss of contact, “Zayn, we’re on sacred grounds here.”

“But as your boyfriend, I can do these things,” Zayn says, placing his forehead to Niall’s.

“I’ve created a monster.”

“Yes, you have,” Zayn takes Niall’s hand in his and guides him back to the bench. Zayn doesn’t know what will happen next. He knows that there are still rough times ahead, and he knows that his mother and him still have some issues to work out, but he feels okay.

He feels good in this moment, and he has hope for the future for the first time in a while. He can’t wait to text Harry and tell him about how he actually has a boyfriend now. Zayn, mysterious, brooding, traumatized Zayn actually has a boyfriend who cares for him! It just seems so unfathomable to him. Niall unwraps their sandwiches and eyes them with just as much desire as when Niall looks at him, and Zayn just shakes his head at Niall.  How did he ever get so smitten to this blue-eyed, blond hair goofball?

Zayn tries his best to just live in this moment as the sun lazily sits in the sky with his boyfriend by his side. He hopes that someday, his nightmares will go away, but now he has Niall when he’s awake, and that’s not so bad at all.

So Zayn sheds what’s left of his summer skin, and he tries to shed what’s left of the memories that still linger. He replaces them with a boy with blue eyes and blond hair and a smile that shines like the promise of a new sunrise.


End file.
